The "yes" was easy. She's Teltheryan oa Vinness, studying literature and theology. Not nobility; her mother is a secretary to a countess, who is paying for her studies. Afterwards Thery has to work for the countess for thirty years after she graduates. It sounds like a terrible price from a mortal's life. Thery says she doesn't mind; her family has served Countess Gloun's for four generations, and she sees no reason to break the tradition at all -- she'd work for her for her whole life anyway, so her scholarship is free.

She's a year older than me. If I were at all sensible, I'd go home for a dozen or two years, and come back older than everyone else, and act wise and mysterious and traditional. Hezimikkinen said as much. Which isn't quite a good enough reason not to do it, no matter what I said when we were screaming and blowing flame at each other. When I'm six hundred years old I might take a vacation like that, but I'm barely thirty. Hmph.

The "no" was clumsy of me. Iska's parents are farmers. That would be fine if she were Herethroy, but she's Rassimel. She's very foreign - not from Ketheria, but from some branch one layer down. She's not a noble - they don't do nobility properly down there, anyway. She seemed nice enough, and after we met her we told her it was probably OK but we should talk about it among ourselves. I wasn't very comfortable, but I sort of agreed . . . then when Dustweed trotted off on four legs to tell Iska that she could move in, I went into a panic. I had expected to live with foreigners, but Iska is very foreign, too foreign. Thery shrugged, and said she didn't care that much one way or another, as long as we got someone to pay the rent. I took a hat from Dustweed's side of the room, and sent a -Silent Words- to zir and told zir to say no. Zie was not terribly pleased with me when zie got back. Iska had evidently offered to pay the full year's rent in advance ... I'm glad she's not living with us, but I don't want to have to explain to her why.

Full Apartment [11 Chirreb 4260]

I can't really blame Dustweed and Thery for making me go questing for more roommates, seeking them with thaumocle and spyglass, location spell and deep bribery. Or, in this case, flying to the campus, and asking the cooks in the buttery if they knew of anyone looking for a place to live. I collected a few names.

Let's ignore Treeset, Herethroy girl, and let's ignore Greenswave, Herethroy boy. Treeset talked with us for five minutes in the buttery and politely excused herself and left. Thery and I were a few minutes late when Greenswave came to visit, by which time he had left and Dustweed was in tears. Let's also ignore Methichor, Rassimel boy. Thery didn't want to share an apartment with someone the same sex and opposite species.

Let's not ignore Havune. On the far end of Goathorn street is a small and shabby longhouse, packed so full of Cani grandmothers and puppies and a pet enstarba that I could barely fit in through the window. There I found Havune. He was easy to recognize, wearing a necklace of dull green stones and a jerkin of marbled, iridescent chimeront leather when all his cousins were wearing flowers and goat-hide.

Havune, yes, would prefer to live with his relatives, because he is Cani. But his relatives are poor, and the longhouse is so crowded that a Cani can't wag his tail without tipping over an aged aunt and getting the tip of it in a nephew's soup, and he knows they were pushing a bit to let him stay there even for a week or so.

And Havune is pleasant and Havune's parents are married to a baron and Havune's uncle had met Thary's parents a few times, so that part was settled.

I am the most desirable roommate, naturally. This does me no personal credit at all. I will sleep in the fireplace and my clothes will fit in the seventh part of a closet, and whoever shares my room will have more space. So Dustweed and I will take the smaller room, and Thery and Havune will take the larger one.

I do wish Bandazure hadn't been quite so quick to leave for home. I had to spend a cley to make the textbooks follow me -- and had to go over roofs and through alleys so as to not be seen looking silly with five big books waddling through the air after me.

'Twas the Night Before Classes

Classes begin tomorrow, and Havune and Thery assure me that that I won't have the seventh part of a second to spare to myself once they begin. I have chosen Ancient Ketherian History, the Study of Differences, Elementary Theory of Tempador Magic, and Current Politics of Aradrueia, and, for the gymnastic requirement, Flirtatious Dancing.

(Why Aradrueian politics, you may well ask, for, if you had been reading this journal since some years before I started it, you would never have heard me mention Aradrueia before? I was going to take Choinxeian Politics, but Thery warned me -- and more seriously than that warning about spare time -- that Professor Thistro of Choinxeian Politics was a pompous monstrosity who reveled in reciting a hundred kings a minute, and Professor Urastra of Aradrueian was actually worth listening to. Therefore I shall wait for another three months on the Choinxeian Politics.)

As my first assignment, though not at school, I suppose in preparation for my proper receipt of my allowance, Hezimikkinen had me summoned up to the Owl Garden at the ducal palace, where I was to pose 'til the sun was nearly full of flame while a tall corsetted Rassimel woman sketched me with colored charcoal. She is Lady Melicanthe ky Hybrasil, and the Duke of Vheshrame is her patron. I am not at all certain why the Duke wants a portrait of me... perhaps he is running out of other subjects for her to paint? The one she was working on when I got there (I saw the sketches and a half-finished painting) was of a Cani healer of no great distinction, armed with a spear. Perhaps there is some subtle artistic aesthetic going on here; Lady Melicanthe has done many portraits of more or less ordinary people of late. Or perhaps the Duke is planning ahead.

After staying still for so long, I went flying, then hunting. In Vheshrame, pigeons are plentiful, and, fortunately, not fireproof. I brought a brace of them home, flapping slowly after me from a Ruloc Corpador improvisation. It's dignified for hunters to carry their catch that way, but not for shoppers to carry theirs. Etiquette is a twisty subject, of which I shall complain further on future days and centuries.

Woe and Whimpering Anguish [14 Chirreb 4260]

Lady Melicanthe finished my portrait, with which I am greatly pleased. The portrait now hangs in the Blue Brocade Suite of the ducal palace, by reason of coloration. Since I myself am not allowed to hang (around) there myself, I take this as a badge of indistinction.

Havune and Thery were right about not having time to spare once classes have started. Not that classes are so terrible, nor yet studying for them -- in the simple truth I haven't studied a bit yet.

No. For the custom here is that, on the first day of classes, all students go to the buttery. We have a round of drinks; we summarize our class schedules in woe-bestruck terms; we have a round of drinks; we rip a page from each textbook and throw it in the fire; we have a round of drinks. (This is why all the textbooks had a blank page at the back.) Then, of course, the first-term students are educated with terrible stories about all their classes. Professor Urastra, for example, is a fierce giant scyanturge luring us into a trap; any resemblance with a pleasant Rassimel woman is simply a delusion brought about by a lack of liquor! Which is to be remedied by all her students buying a round for everyone... Three tots of consimmon brandy, a quarter-pint of hosh beer, a quarter-pint of celery beer, and a pot of hallucinogenic tea, over the evening, and I was ready to believe that Professor Urastra was a scyanturge -- or that I was.

Certain other points are worthy of mention by morning's flickering sunlight. Point the first: one's willingness to drink strong drink really ought to be tempered by one's awareness of one's own small body size. Point the second: Even if one is distinctly tipsy, it is advisable to get out of the fireplace before emptying one's stomach. Codicil to point the second: should one ignore Point the Second, one should clean the fireplace in short order rather than taking a brief nap. Point the third: Rassimel recover from all poisons quickly, and, as a consequence, the entire species deserves to be used as a shuttlecock in a game between Accanax and "Here". Point the fourth: spontaneous magic is made not one bit easier by the headache that comes from the remnants of strong drink. Point the fifth: botching a spontaneous Clean-Smelling Air can return the air to its state as of the middle of the night, with a less well-mellowed pungency. Point the sixth: if the thrice-accursed and hideously-healthy Rassimel chooses to complain or laugh, any form of vengeance is appropriate. Including looking pitiful enough so that she does the spell herself.

Dustweed, it may be noted, is just as healthy as Thery. Zie removed all the alcohol from zir beer before zie drank it. As least zie had the grace to slip out quietly before I woke up this morning, for which I will rhapsodize zir ten thousand years hence. Or at least talk zir into giving me that spell.

No rhapsodies now, though. Even the scratching of quill on smooth paper trickles through my head like daggersome icicles.

The Long Way Around [15 Chirreb 4260]

The first mystery of academic life is how to find your classes. For your convenience and safety, there is not the least trace of organization or structure to the naming of classrooms: they are named after their decoration, or the artist who designed them, or some notable event that happened there, or the whim of the first professor that taught there, or any other way by which things get names. Neither is there any catalog of where classrooms are. One must simply know -- or, if knowing does not suffice, find someone who does.

When one is readily recognizable as a first-year student in the first week of classes -- be it by means of brilliant azure plumage that has never been seen before on campus, or by means of a woefully hung-over face and drooping tail -- one may perhaps be given very creative directions to ones' classes. I got to my morning's class a third of an hour late. So early? The three grinning Orren upperclassfolk had no special tricks to give a youngster who could fly; they had me circle the steeple on the administrative building seven times, and then sneak in through the dean's window. I consider myself fortunate here. Twillie, the Orren girl who came in right after me, had been sent through the messier parts of the plumbing.

Nestrune Kreslink is Crown Prince of Daukrhame, and a proud proud Rassimel is he. He refused to follow the senior students' directions: he strode, clothed, around the buttery, rather than going in the fur through it. Thery and some of her friends are plotting a suitable punishment for Crown Prince Nestrune Kreslink. By custom it must be delivered by the end of the week.

In all truth and clarity, the end of the week will not come too soon for me. I am taking all these pranks in good humor, more to avoid Nestrune's looming doom than because it comes naturally to me. Some other first-term students have been heard vowing that they will never do such pranks themselves: a vow that I will not take, though the academy would be a better place if everyone did.

In Classes [16 Chirreb 4260]

The Green Tile Classroom, in Sprowlween Hall, is not the prettiest of my classrooms. It is smaller than most. The podium is somewhat off-center. Mistake of the builder? Or design of the artist? I cannot tell. In any case, the aethetics of the room are rather on the ostentatious side. The legs of the podium are covered with thin scales of green jade: so much stone that some postgraduate student was hired to enchant the podium so that nobody could prize scales off of it for stealing. Thus it is that the speaker in the podium scarcely need do more than whisper, and his voice is heard thundering throughout the classroom.

Professor Achitka Koimarth may as well have taught in this classroom for a thousand years. (In fact he is a young sort of professor -- but, if a professor of Tempador can't manage to have taught in the same classroom for a thousand years by the time he's forty, who could?) Absent Tempador tricks -- and in all clarity, I can see no sign of Tempador tricks -- I suspect it of being some Cani expertise in social matters: he knows when to whisper, and when to whirl around on the podium and boom forth some question to a formerly-inattentive Orren who had just started a reverie of fishing, drooping on her bench and thinking it safe because she was behind the professor.

The benches in the Green Tile Classroom are not well-suited for Zi Ri. If I sit on the low bench, I cannot see the professor through the higher. If I sit on the higher, I have no space for tablet and inkwell. Levitating takes enough attention so that I must miss bits of the lecture, or risk crashing to the floor and disturbing everything. Next session I shall come early -- after the first week, even the newest students can take direct routes to their classes -- and ask if I can sit on the rafters. Some professors might dislike the thought of not towering over all their students, but Professor Koimarth is Cani and should have no doubt who has affan in teaching, regardless of seating arrangements.

Flirting for credit [17 Chirreb 4260]

Flirtatious Dance is proving to be a good bit of exercise. Not the kind I was hoping for, not yet. The teachers -- there are four of them, for it is a rather popular class among the unmarried students -- started with a dance to try to scare students out of the class. A traditional Thanish triafrella is a bit of an energetic dance. For a modern flourish, or perhaps for extra humiliation, they made us dance it with apples in our muzzles.

It is hard to flirt properly with an apple in your mouth. It is hard to even pant properly with an apple in your muzzle; the Cani especially were looking rather miserable by the end of the class. I daresay I was looking rather miserable too: not hot of course, it takes a goodly fire to do that, but I'm far and away the smallest person in the class, and they didn't shrink the set that I have to run around. Yes, run, my hind legs on the floor, my forelegs carrying two glasses of wine, and my wings trying desperately not to tangle anyone's tail. A proper fool I looked -- just like everyone else in the room.

I suppose that "flirtation" will wait for the next lesson.

For me, that is. Thery's boyfriend Yarwain has resurfaced. His skyboat was delayed by a pack of ulgrane -- they never got close to him, evidently, but he had to stay in Ulmarn for four days while knights flew around and did knightly things.

"I bravely challenged the dangers of the Cafe Dumard -- I defeated a whole roast pocker in the morning, and a dread and terrible loaf of squash-stuffed bread in the evening!" he proclaimed. If he is not a courtier, he has been reading too many novels. Thery laughed a great deal, and took him off to some park or other.

Dustweed and I scowled at each other, and shrugged, and spiked a pot of tea with a bit of brandy. Zie's somehow managed to offend every other Herethroy in Vheshrame, from the sound of it. Zie hasn't managed to have a chalice of kathia peacefully with anyone with chitin, from the sound of it.

I don't think zie was inviting me to play. Just as well really; zie really isn't very much to my taste, and I imagine sharing a room with a lover could get awkward here and there. Besides, zie's not in my Flirtatious Dancing course, and I wouldn't get any homework credit for anything I did with her.

Postscript: one does not get homework in Flirtatious Dancing, and one does not get class credit for following up on any flirting that happens. I am beginning to think that Flirtatious Dancing is a style of dance, rather like Carthenian or Kiss-Dancing.

Aftermath of the Dance [17 Chirreb 4260, still]

Now for some worrisome questions. Shall I be a mysterious cryptic lizard sage, or shall I date other students? Shall I date full-mammals, or, perhaps, Herethroy? How much physical affection is proper, since there is no-one else of my own species in the city except for my half-sibling? How much is dignified? Or consonant with a potent degree of decorum and mystery?

At home, the answers were obvious. Mystery never worked with servants who knew me in the egg, and it's futile to try it on your parent who is giving you lessons in it. So there was not the slightest reason not to ask (as the children of the wealthy and powerful often do) for special services from Amberwave now and then ... not until Palering told me zie was complaining about it. Zie had to stay up late finishing zir work every time I stole an hour out of zir day, and Palering was scolding zir for it, and zie told Palering why zie was so slow. I stopped asking Amberwave then: it was embarrassing!

It is only as I scribbled the last few words that I realize that I was more wicked than I might like, then. In hindsight I imagine zie was hoping for some valuable presents, or preferences, or ... whatever it is that the young child of a noble wizard can provide. If I had the money now, I should send zir somewhat, by way of apology.

I even thought of apologizing to Hezimikkinen and trying to get my full allowance back. Next year is probably better than this year. I don't want to be thought to be flighty and inconstant.

Which is a long and morose excursion that I had not intended. Spirshash invited me to the Cafe du Fronde for a chalice of kathia. (He takes his kathia with butter and sugar and chissowary -- a ghastly combination I think. Prenjuice for me!) He dances, and flirts amazingly well considering he had an apple in his mouth at the time. He's lightly married to two other Orren students, down from three last year -- but he was quite clear that no exclusivity was present that would hinder him from any further adventures. (And that's all the request he made. He didn't mention how concerned he was about species.) His courtly manner is excellent (the son of a Lord-High Treasurer or some such, I understand), and his discourse is charming and very very witty -- so much that one barely realizes that he cannot stop talking about himself for three consecutive minutes.

So: as a casual liaison, I think it would be fine. I think I'd be down a bit of status, I suppose, depending on who he's married to and just how much cross-species affection is disliked here. He's amusing to talk to. Only about himself, yes, but he's a thorough and proper Orren and has done a thousand ridiculous things; it's not like me trying to talk only about my life.

But ... he's fully a mammal. I've always felt more comfortable with Herethroy -- as maybe I shouldn't have (poor Amberwave). Doesn't fur get soaked and stuck here and there? For that matter, he's Orren ... just how wet can he get without turning into water-shape? Or should I ask him to be in water-shape first? It might be fun to be bigger than my lover ... But he'd still be all furry.

Dustweed, it may be noted, is no help at all on romantic matters. Zie snapped at me when I brought the topic up. Perhaps zie's recently been jilted?

So I suppose I'll retreat into the tower of the cryptic lizard, for now. It is, at the very least, a safe sort of place. And I daresay that I'll have another option or two before the end of the term.

The View from the Rafters [18 Chirreb 4260]

Professor Achitka was not in the slightest worried about me sitting on a rafter, or on a windowsill, or upon the wide, flat, polished head of the poorly-dressed blue-green Herethroy man in the front row for that matter. There wasn't room for an inkwell there, even if the Herethroy hadn't been in the habit of nodding off thrice a lecture. So it was the rafters for me.

Upon the rafter I chose were: seven and a half pounds of dust; four quills in various degrees of delapidation; a Cani beret in last year's style with Halyn clan symbols; two-thirds of a grilled beetle sandwich that cannot possibly be more than a month old; a copy of Vengitarn's The Squib and the Squaffern with all of the dirty bits carefully underlined in green ink (using a ruler!); a seed-bun which, I daresay, was baked by Flokin before the universe was sprouted; and a very beautiful copper fur-pin that probably cost a dozen lozens.

Next time, I shall come a third of an hour early, and bring a towel.

Still, if I ever need a place to hid the Mellifluous Minnow of Morzongo and Morziblam, or some other ancient artifact of archaic awfulness, I know just the rafter for it. The mold on the sandwich shall protect it better than a roomful of animated skeletons with burning eyes and giant crossbows.

Armed Students [19 Chirreb 4260]

Nestrune wears a serpent rapier at all times, in a fine sheath of iridescent blue-green chimeront leather. It is an accessory, not a weapon, for him, with which he sometimes gesticulates extravagantly, sheathed. When some unidentified senior student flipped a chamberpot at him, he responded with Fire Flower. I expect further violence there.

I asked some other people what they do.

Thery carries a small bone dagger with an enchantment of sharpness, which she made in class. It cuts through paper and leather for her: she buys butcher's paper and crude leather, and sews herself notebooks for her courses. It cuts through the heavy husks of dried sengo fruits, which she eats every day at lunchtime. Once it cut through gabardine and fur and hide and muscle, scraping on bone, when Thery plunged it into the leg of a Cani in Ulmarn who shoved her into a hornet's nest for being foreign and slightly rich.

Dustweed carries a staff when zie walks in bad parts of town, or Herethroy neighborhoods. Zie has grafted Cruel Ice Fairy, and has used it four times, the worst of which was when Herethroy adolescents in some village or other started shooting at zir with their practice bows. I gather that there is some unpleasant history around this, but zie does not want to discuss it.

Havune never, ever carries a weapon. If someone ever attacks him, he will spont something or other dangerous. He has not considered the possibility.

Yarwain has a metal-edged sword, which he has worn a few times: has worn it on a couple of expeditions to the Verticals seeking gornazzits for conversation. He brought the sword to school, from which the explorers leave. He has never used it outside of gym classes.

Spirshash ... The next time I go asking Spirshash about himself, I should bring a weapon. A dagger sharp enough to cut my own throat, if nothing else. He has fought duels on the balconies of palaces against ambassadors. He has joined a party of archers hunting a remorshka. He has met a nendrai, or, perhaps, seen one from a distance. He is, in his own mind, a brave Orren. I don't know what he wears habitually though.

No, I don't carry a weapon myself. Really. Absolutely nothing worthy of note or capable of injuring anyone. Of course. Maybe I will make something worthwhile in an enchantment class though.

A Cauldron of Phrases

The current group study party game is the Cauldron of Phrases. Each player -- we should call them "scholars" -- has a stack of textbooks and class assignments. As we read and work, we keep track of focussed declarative sentences, and write down their predicates in [erasable] charcoal-stick on strips of wood.

[Focussed declarative sentence: A sentence of the form "X is Y", with emphasis on X -- "Karen is the one who speaks German (not Hubert or Emily)."]

Periodically, all the predicates are tossed into a recently-boiled chamberpot, labelled "The Cauldron of Wisdom" for the occasion. Each scholar in turn draws a strip and reads it aloud with zir name in front: "Sythyry is the way that most Ketherian cities ensure the purity of their water." Whoever says the phrase that gets the most laughter is required to take one drink.

It's a bit of a slow drinking game, or a bit of a drunken way to study, but, well, Thery is far too fond of it, and so it was that I found myself thoroughly described. The '*'s are the ones that got me to drink.

1. Sythyry is the way that most Ketherian cities ensure the purity of their water.
2. Sythyry is a dedicated group of people that formed an international society to study the movements of the Three Fencers in the sky.
3. Sythyry is the first non-Treverran writer to be given this very important award.
4. * Sythyry is extremely shy, and gets more so after each litter of puppies.
5. Sythyry is a consortium of five universities devoted to the investigation of bound magic.
6. Sythyry is sharing the benevolence of Kvarse with the inhabitants of the lower Verticals.
7. Sythyry is found only in a text by Pincent Vhilippon written in 1521, the Legend of Marsiet, and in a few folksongs derived therefrom.
8. Sythyry is made entirely of copper and the fragments of a shattered remorshka skull.
9. * Sythyry is controlled by a semi-mindful spirit of the teshedrel/blue variety, and is generally cooperative but is likely to become physically intimate with others of its kind at inopportune times.
10. Sythyry is committed to helping any blossomary or cat regardless of its condition on arrival.
11. Sythyry is looking for men or women to train as volunteer coordinators of prostitution.
12. Sythyry is immediately unhappy there, but her fortunes go from bad to worse when she hears that her father is dead in Braxeia and all his fortune has been confiscated.
13. Sythyry is the newest addition to our family; we own him jointly with our grandchildren, Marissa and Spordigan oa Ossnhaan.
14. Sythyry is an experienced player of the planned gong.
15. Sythyry is the epitome of Calanchian decadence.
16. * Sythyry is a new sculpture in the halls of the Duke of Vheshrame.
17. Sythyry is a throwback to what the legal community calls 'archaic punishment,' according to Derfelm.
18. * Sythyry is given to one Orren each year to use as he or she sees fit.

At that point, Nestrune looked entirely too pleased with himself, and I was entirely too tipsy for proper manners. I breathed on the glass of distilled spirits in his hand, cracking the glass and igniting the contents, and flew clumsily out of the window. Thery was kind (and sober) enough to bring my books back home afterwards

Theory and Practice of Differences [21 Chirreb 4260]

Iska is in my Theory of Differences class.

Iska is good at Theory of Differences, too. We got 1,5,8,12,19,31,50,78, and Iska solved it (the answer is 2, and it's third degree) before Professor Oxisilmaan finished writing it.

And Iska only knows the names of a dozen people in town, and by embarrassing fortune I am one of those names. So she must sit next to me in Theory of Differences -- I haven't too many choices of seat in the Auditorium of Descending Greenish Triangles, the best is a sort of table that's half growing out of the wall at the lower left front, and even someone who couldn't solve 1,5,8,etc. so fast could tell where I'm sitting.

So Iska has decided that I am her friend of convenience, for mathematical purposes at least. Iska doesn't seem to know that I turned her down to live with us. She found a room living with some fisher-Orren, near the city wall ... their own son got eaten by the wall last year, so they'd a room free and they'd a hole of sorts in their lives. Iska's an odd person to fill it, foreign and quiet and intense and all, but I suppose they didn't want a poor copy of their son. The room is muddy and the house is so fishy I can smell it on her from two seats away. It sounds a dreadful sort of room, but Iska just shrugged when she said it.

I've done my very best to be polite and sympathetic, and I doubt that I've raked social claws across her face more than twice or thrice. I suppose I'll have to take Manners for Mages next season.

By way of actual news: the professor of Ancient Ketherian History is married to the ambassador to Psent. Psent has come under some sort of a suspicion or other -- I should ask Hezimikkinen, I'm sure zie knows what -- and ambassador, professor, servants, and all are now on their way to Psent. No more Ancient Ketherian History. The best choice for that hour of the day seems to be Ethology of Dangerous Creatures.

I suppose I shall try to persuade them that my grandparent Glikkonen counts as a Dangerous Creature as well as some Ancient Ketherian History, though I don't suppose the former classification will improve my chances of getting a good date quite so much as the latter would have.

I was taking classes for some reason beyond finding good dates, wasn't I? Spirshash only talks about that one reason... Oh, yes, for the learning of it. I must mention that to Spirshash and see if he remembers of it.

Revenge is a Dinner Best Eaten Quickly [22 Chirreb 4260]

Havune is in the kitchen again.

Havune has no great choice in the matter. Thery and Yarwain are making good use of that bedroom -- trying to be quiet, though Havune is muttering that the whole apartment reeks of Rassimel affection.

But Havune has a good nature, and Havune has just received a box of spices and condiments from home, and, as we have just noted, Havune is in the kitchen and will be for another hour or two, depending on Yarwain's stamina and speed of grooming.

So Havune is cooking. Havune is a gentle sort of Cani cook, which is to say, he is only making:

1. A soup of boiled baby eels in a sauce of fermented serpents and chili peppers.

2. A plate of lozen-sized pancakes, as thin as wing-skin, of hosh grain and lentil flour and garlic and more garlic.

3. Raisins stir-fried with powdered tea and powdered scorpions and powdered chissowary and powdered salt.

4. Porridge of oats and clams and butter.

5. Salad of slivered leeks and greens, sort of like a leekish tarrissy, except with shredded hot peppers and mustard-seed and shredded stag-radish and celery seed and shredded something long and frondy and blue-green that I don't know what it is.

6. A grilled parrot. A plain grilled parrot. A plain, unadorned, unspiced, unsalted, untormented grilled parrot. I cowered in fear!

The plan was, originally, that Dustweed and Havune and I would devour this food noisily before Thery and Yarwain got out. Dustweed can only eat 2 and 5 just because of meat, though, and the salad was rather ferociously spiced. I sampled everything. 1, 4, and 6 were worthy of taking a second bite of. Dustweed made herself a new bowl of porridge, with almonds instead of clams. I ate the parrot's left wing and much of the entrails. Havune finished everything else.

Irromantic letters [25 Chirreb 4260]

I haven't been writing much the last few days, for I have had another occupation to keep me awake 'til late in the night. Not the occupation that Spirshash keeps hinting at, mind you. I've been scraping sparks off of my magerium and stuffing them into a box, copying A Spell That Lasts for Yarwain, in exchange for a very practical Fresh Meat spell. With any luck I will be able to pick up a few lozens preserving the corpses of guntries from the heat of summer. Or the equally large letoof fishes that the river-Orren haul to shore, sometimes one in a day, sometimes four and they can't sell them all.

In point of fact, Spirshash has given up on me for the moment. One must not expect an Orren to stay interested in one for long, especially if one does not return many favors. Last night, on the way home from the Cafe du Fronde, I preferred to fly than to ride on his shoulder, and I carefully flew to the window rather than accept a skilled and enthusiastic Orren kiss.

Spirshash was rather vehement about losing interest, as Orren go: he wrote a bit of a letter on five separate yilliat leaves, explaining that:

(1) he has come to understand that I find his advances unpalatable;

(2) he is a busy, busy man, having a wife and a husband at the moment;

(3) he is sure that Havune, a gentleman of judgment and renown, would fall into his arms at half a moment's notice;

(4) should I ever wish to enjoy his attentions, I will have to exert myself mightily, or at least ask;

(5) for that matter, he could have Whisli in his bed just by snapping his fingers, and that's more important as Whisli is also Orren;

(6) he wishes to have nothing more to do with me ever again;

(7) I should be careful, lest I wind up spending eternity as a virgin;

(8) Of course nothing of note would happen in any case, as we are distinctly not the same species;

(9) he hopes to see me tomorrow at Flirtatious Dance class.

And for extra effect, he sprinkled the leaves with roselantern perfume. I don't have a book of Flower Speech handy, but I have a Cani roommate (a gentleman of judgment and renown!). Writing on yilliat leaves, such as might be used for taking notes or performing scratch calculations, indicates a level of disinterest, or a level of penury. Roselantern perfume -- when mixed with a touch of tascernel essence, as this is -- indicates a formal apology between estranged clandestine lovers of the same sex and species. "Or," as Havune says, "that Spirshash doesn't have a book of Flower Speech readily to hand himself."

Now, of course, I have to think of a reply to the cursed thing.

P.S. I did show point (4) above to Havune, anticipating offended laughter. "I hadn't realized I was next on his list." said Havune, "I shall have to take suitable precautions."

Poor Spirshash. I do believe that Havune intends to take a quick sort advantage of him, but to get rid of him before Cani loyalty manifests. Havune phrased this as a kindness to me: he shall run Spirshash through the rapids, and I may either take that as my revenge or comfort the Orren afterwards, my choice. Havune's kindness knows no bounds: certainly no lower bounds.

Back to copying spells and contemplating the Theory of Differences!

Beware of Cuminous Brandy [25 Chirreb 4260]

Be very very careful when you drink cuminous brandy! Sometimes the Cani make it with spices other than cumin. I got a chaliceful made with wasabe and istomard. I sneezed, which set it afire, which made Havune scold at me for wasting good brandy.

I have to agree with him. It was good brandy, even if it left my entire oral/nasal cavity full of sparks for half an hour after I drank it.

Sleeth Silent Letter [25 Chirreb 4260]

Written on a sheet of twice-used parchment, and sprinkled with lavender and mavespike perfume (for aggravated innocence):

Dear Spirshash,

It comes as somewhat of a distressing, perhaps even alarming, surprise to me that you hold me in such a kind of regard as to induce an emotionally multifarious letter. That you have designs on my friends is well enough: what else would a busy, busy Orren with a wife and a husband at the moment do? Though where I fit into these designs is unclear to me: while I have a key to Havune's bedroom, or rather the front door of our apartment, I do not have a key to his heart, nor yet to any part of his body. Nor am I in the habit of sampling lovers before I provide them to him: 'tis an occupation more suited for a highly-trained and highly-paid professional, in a discipline which I do not study any more closely than the Flirtatious Dance class.

In any event, connections between us are simply those between fellow students in a course, nothing more. Anything else must be given time to ripen. Of course, between a lizard and a mammal, what could happen at all?

Havune giggled considerably when I showed him.

Everyone Must Cook Day [26 Chirreb 4026]

For the last several days, I have been lazy about making food, spending amber for it rather than cooking more cheaply. The stack of takeout chub-beetle cages and sandwich boxes by the water basin fell over this morning, so Havune declared that, first, we must clean up the kitchen, and, second, today is Everyone Must Cook Day. Havune has affan in matters of food, it seems, and even though none of the rest of us are Cani, we all seem to give it to him.

So here's what we did.

Thery: Thery boiled up a mass of ving-beans and onions and garlics and green herbs in a big leather pot, and zapped it with a Feed the Toothless Honored Elder (Mu De Hr 5) to turn it into a puree sort of soup. She plans to eat this four meals a day for the next three days. Rassimel resist boredom the way Zi Ri resist fire; it is a mighty power.

Havune: Havune simmered a guntry's mid-leg with whole hosh and chopped carrots and forty-three spices. It smells good, even to me. He has a great deal of reading to do by tomorrow, so he didn't want to spent too much time cooking.

Dustweed: Dustweed scooped a bowl of water from the boilypot, and threw a handful of crushed hosh into it, and chopped up a cabbage and a bitter lettuce, and had the dullest plue and tarrissy I could imagine. Zie was particularly despairsome today, I suppose. Thery gave zir a cup of pureed bean soup, which was, I guess the nicest thing anyone did for zir since dawn. (I didn't ask more.)

Me: I bought a half-pound of dried salted fish, planning to make stew, but Thery and Havune were ahead of me for that burner. I flew back to the smaller market and bought a big box of chub-beetles, and a small bottle of vinegar, and had time to get home before the others were done. Havune teased me somewhat, but, well, at least I bought the beetles at the market, and got enough for a couple days. After they are done, I will make salted fish stew.

A Missile from Home [27 Chirreb 4260]

Surprise starts tomorrow. I bet Havune a lozen that it'll be a cold Surprise. Either way I am the victor: a hot Surprise will be comfortable, and if it's a cold Surprise, I will shiver terribly and wrap myself in guntry-skins, but at least I have won the bet.

On another matter, in no way can I be the victor. Hezimikkinen wrote to ~mother~ before the thought of writing ever occurred to me -- centuries of being in the Ducal Court of Vheshrame have sharpened zir words and wits to being more dangerous than a jag-sword with each of its dozen tips dipped in Howly poison from a different stravile adder. (I am not yet experienced at courtly language, so I have to practice it at every chance I get, no matter how purple it dyes the pages of this journal.)

Or, at least, zie told ~mother~ about zir quarrel with me and its resolution.

~Mother~ seems to generally agree with Hezimikkinen. I am here, zie writes, to learn things, not to challenge my vastly more powerful and experienced half-sibling to the duello, nor yet to turn the generally friendly relations between our countries into a curdled, sickening-sour mess. Politeness, she says, well-becomes a Zi Ri, given that I cannot ever escape my reputation (whatever reputation I build); that it will fester in history books and records of courtly events for centuries.

(I went to the academy library to see who was looking up the court records from a thousand years ago. The last time they were checked out was seventy-three years ago, by a Rassimel-scholar-of-course. I looked up the articles by that scholar. They tied my neck and tail in knots, arguing some beastly little intellectual point about whether Orren or Rassimel contributed more to the decline in the court's morality and the concomitant increase in dissention and divorce. I don't think ~mother~ really wins that round -- though I am just barely polite enough not to tell zir so just yet.)

~Mother~ reminds me to take at least half my classes in magic. To my lips this brings a vast and smoky sigh. I have plenty of time to learn and practice magic -- I have neither desire nor impulse nor wish to become a great wizard before mid-Surprise, nor yet by Midwinter's day next year. I can do it by degrees (and not the kind that Vheshrame Academy grants!) over a century or so! I can work as, I don't care so much, a banker or a book-seller or some such, and bind spells on the side, or cast them for friends, or whatnot. There are no lack of fearsomely-mighty people in the family as it is. I imagine it would take me ten thousand years to get to where Glikkonen is after only four -- even if I studied constantly, he invented some of the basic magical techniques, he bickered with gods ... those things don't happen in the modern world!

~Mother~ has the very best of intentions, I do not doubt that for half a moment, but zie's half the World Tree's lifetime old, and I doubt zie's been out of her amber tower two months since I hatched. Zie can't really understand modern life, can zie?

Hot Surprise [1 Oix 4260]

The winds an hour before dawn were cool autumn winds, scented with wet leaves and distant rain. At dawntime the winds howled hot, at the same that cley was refreshed. Within an hour the city smelled of hot moss, summertime grass, garbage just started to get toasted.

Everyone else groaned. Hot Surprise is a heavy weight on full mammals, and almost as bad for Herethroy. They rushed into the yard-thick walls of our apartment, and demanded I follow them to cast Sustenoc Airador Pyrador to keep it as cool for as long as possible.

Then I went out skydancing, flying around the city, breathing flame in solidarity with whatever obnoxious air elementals are in charge of knocking the wide straw hats off heat-avoiding Herethroy on their way to the fields with carts of octagonal seed to grow those few, odd crops which only sprout during hot Surprise. My feathers are at home in a bonfire; a bit of hot wind is just a comfort to me.

Limp Fur [2 Oix 4260]

It is a third of an hour past dawn, and the sun is nearly empty: only a few lazy sparks in a sea of sun-fuel, most of its sphere flameless, reflecting its track and the stars behind it, as if the weather is too hot for even the sun to be energetic.

On the street the Cani are melting. Six of them, four of them pushing a cart of ladders and brushes and paint, one carrying a basket of food, the last singing a lazy walking song and tapping a small drum with the end of a paintbrush and looking as if he has affan in organizing travel. Fur, lacking quills, cannot stand in this weather, and Cani look as though they've been dipped in windy water and not quite allowed to dry properly. They are already panting, pink and mauve tongues shining in the sun's drooping dawnlight. The food-carrier threatens to choof the drummer, saying he took a job for them that wouldn't be done before Oix.

Inside the apartment, we have worked students' stratagems to hold on to Chirreb's cool as long as we can. The air has a metallic-tasting magical resonance, just barely strong enough to be aware of, from some spontaneous cooling magic. For my roommates this is a small price to pay for a refuge from heat. For me ... a larger price for refuge from complaining roommates.

Crisis Du Jour [3 Oix 4260]

Dustweed, today, has put on zir fools' ribbons, and cut them long and dyed them red with dots of gleaming green. Zie unwisely took three books from the Academy's library, intending to learn the ways of pond-whefts and their kindred while sitting at home and eating cyanberries instead of going to the pre-Surprise festivities. Zie did, in fact, do this thing: no ribbons there.

But zie evidently did not realize that, should the books be read on the evening of the pre-Surprise festivities, they must needs be brought back to the library during Surprise.

Nor is Dustweed a particularly robust Herethroy, as co-lovers so often aren't. It seems that the heat of Surprise has quite overcome zir, in body or in spirit. Zie hinted that zie neglected to bring the books when zie went to class this morning. Thery, from whose clever eyes few ignominies can escape, noticed that zie took the books with zir in the morning, and returned with them at noontime: in this way zie measured zir fools' ribbons long.

And of course it is not Dustweed who can return them. Dustweed cannot or will not trot them back to the library zirself, not on a day where sunshine falls on Herethroy backs like the flames of its birth -- unless zie is an Aquador mage to weave zirself a jacket of cool water. I don't know what Dustweed's excuse is. In any event, zie cast zirself into bed, thoroughly unwell, and left the three of us to return zir books.

It was quickly decided -- a stinking, half-frozen curse be inserted into the nether parts of that wicked process of 'voting', and, once there present, be rotated as upon the Lathe of the Bitter Goddess! (this time) -- that I was the one to return the books. Perhaps I should be quieter about enjoying the hot weather.

So, must needs I fly around, books bobbling behind, through the canyons of five-story houses around the Academy. And, upon coming to the dread and arcane tower of the library, I discovered its terrible secret: that, in Surprise, it closes at the eighth hour of the day: an hour later than the rest of the Academy in Surprise, but, needless to say, it was by then two hours past noon -- I was three hours late!

I mused on flying back home, errand failed: but the fine for three late books might be too big a fraction of Dustweed's rent. The guard-door of the library was far too heavy for me to open by hand. I was, by this time, not exactly short of cley, but levitating the books had taken more than I might have wished, and I myself had (and, indeed, still have) a set of practical exercises in Tempador to do for tomorrow -- and, hot as it is, I'm not entirely sure I want to sit in a fire [to meditate and regain cley -bb].

Thumping on nearby doors roused one (1) sleepy Rassimel, a senior student in Mathematics, who had no desire to leave his theorems and sequences for even a minute to walk the sixth-of-a-mile across the Yard and open a door for a Zi Ri. Flying back home and making Thery do the work was tempting, but seemed impractical, as she had once refused before.

At length, I was able to squirm, without much dignity, through an airhole in the library's entrance hall (fortunately nobody could see me -- had there been anyone watching, I would simply have asked them to open the door), and somehow persuade the books to follow me. At which point I discovered the Least Librarian to be a Rassimel as deaf as a pickled oyster and rather half as friendly, demanding to know why I didn't simply knock at the door. I had to shout my answer thrice before he could hear it, though.

He did, at least, open the door and let me leave in a more dignified way.

It is tempting to contrive some stratagem to grow to the size of a heavy horse, and be able to open doors -- or break them down! -- without so much trouble as this.

Dustweed was fast asleep when I got home, and even thanks were unavailable.

(Postscript: the fools' ribbons were cut shorter than I gave zir credit for. The reason that Dustweed didn't try to return them zirself was, in fact, she did try, but two of her many Herethroy enemies were practicing staff-fighting in Damarnathe Yard, and one of them accidentally thwacked zir in the knee hard enough to crack zir chitin. They did have the grace to take zir to the healers, so zie wasn't actually bleeding; but zie was walking on four legs -- or, strictly, on three -- and I noticed not. But zir enemy wasn't doing any unneedful favors, so the books stayed with zir. I didn't realize a bit of this; Havune winkled the story out of zir and told me when I came home with fire in all my fangs.)

Cold Reception [4 Oix 4260]

Orren go to the river or the ponds when it is hot. Herethroy go to the mushroom cellars, I guess, and Gormoror to the depths of the forests. Cani, presumably choof to see who has to wave big feathery fans at whom. Rassimel students of moderate means, of course, go to Cafe du Fronde, where someone or other has produced great jets of snow from the jugs under the potted fern trees, and there gobble down pots of snow doused in syrup or wine. And Zi Ri, inexplicably, go with them, though they order tea and sit on the pot.

Which meant that we -- Thery, Yarwain, and myself -- were seated at a small round barrel-top table on one side of an intermittent shower of snow. And, inevitably, Iska was on a table on the other side, reading something about which god likes which kind of sequence better. I waved a wing, and did my best to ignore her, and chatter with Thery and Yarwain about characterization in some novels that, if all goes well, I will never live long enough to read.

"I think this is silly a little," Iska remarked to me, "for that they write every god likes a different mathematics. Do you suppose the physical gods are even careful about arithmetic? Flokin and Tenmen, have they knowledge of numbers?"

"Flokin can do arithmetic," said Thery, who knows these things and is not fussy about talking to foreigners. "It told Gar-Mnetang that he would have to find a way to spend seven times eleven times thirteen cley but not a thousand and one cley, to make the Mile-Tall Candle."

"But that is not what happened when it talked to Martsetsnu," said Iska, and the two of them were off on a theologian's debate. Spell-made snow showered over my feathers and scales and chilled by tea-chalice. Yarwain looked tolerantly bored.

In a few minutes, Iska had joined us at our barrel. This required that I get off the teapot to make room for her. I'm sure that ninety-nine primes out of a hundred would have found the chair delightfully cool, but I was the minority.

The cross minority! A third of an hour into the conversation, I did my smoky-throated best to cram an old anecdote about my famous grandparent and Lenhirrik, despite the fact that it made neither conversational nor theological sense. All the Rassimel stared at me. I finished my tea and flew off home in a hurry.

Dangerous Weather [5 Oix 4260]

Over the city the air spirits are ... thinking too hard. After noon, they gave us a traditionally-eccentric Surprise thunderstorm. It rained buckets -- by which I mean that there weren't many raindrops at all, but each one was bigger than my whole body. The lightning fell in odd floppy loops, dangerous enough so that the city wall woke up and protected us; they clung on the invisible overhead extent of the wall, sizzling and raging like so many monsters. I braved the giant rain to fly up there and look: they were crawling around like headless serpents, trying to find a way through the ancient wizards' handiwork.

Inside the city, Yarwain and Thery tried playing in the rain: wearing very short skirts, dodging raindrops. Successfully, of course. Only Havune got hit by a raindrop (walking home from his relatives' house, not playing at all), and Thery's basic healing spell was enough to cure it. Fortunately it didn't break any bones.

Anyways, Yarwain and Thery dodged raindrops for a while, 'til Havune came home hurt, and then they took care of him... and, while Thery was imitating a doctor, Yarwain dumped a bucket of water on her.

Thery took slow but definitive revenge on him for that, I am given to understand. There were a quite surprising variety of squeaks and squeals coming from Thery's room -- and a Cani roommate coming from Thery's room as well, after a bit, shaking his head and coming to commandeer half of Dustweed's bed and to refuse to say what was going on in there.

Hot Tempers [7 Oix 4260]

Hot Surprise, and everyone else is irritable. Havune had a few arch words for Thery and Yarwain, who left the yarn on their door all night by mistake. They're supposed to leave a bit of yarn on the bedroom doorknob when they want privacy. They don't want to open the outside door very often and let the coolth out, so they decided to waste a cley to teleport when they left -- directly from the bedroom of course -- so they forgot about the yarn and they didn't make enough noise for any of us to hear them. So Havune spent the night on the couch in our bedroom, and not all things that he said were flattersome. Thery said that he should have smelled that they were finished -- he has said things like that before, in Thery's hearing. They were not terribly kind to each other for some minutes, ending only when Thery teleported away again.

That, at least, was for a reason. A green-shelled Herethroy threw a log at Dustweed for no obvious reason as we were walking to class, and broke zir left antenna too. She didn't even look apologetic when I glowered at her. Dustweed and I went to the Healers' Guild, where I bullied some poor commoner secretary into sending the bill to Dustweed's family (or mine) even though they're not Vheshrame citizens. Dustweed, mended of body but bruised of spirit, wanted to go home after that, and by that time it was far too late to go to class.

Dustweed is curled up on the couch, having drunk some very cheap and noxious wine to bring sleep. I trust the air elementals are having fun. Nobody who walks on the ground is

Doom! [8 Oix 4260]

Orren have quick minds: quick to think, and quick to forget. Spirshash invited me to the Grand Parade of Hot Surprise. I was intrigued: how could anyprime hold a parade in hot Surprise? I thought of the duke and the court marching nude around Dortholio Square, while the weather-wizards made the clouds drizzle upon them.

No such thing, of course! The Grand Parade of Hot Surprise is entirely Orren, entirely in the water. Some of them wear curious little costumes: Spirshash himself was paddling around as one head of a most eccentric three-headed fish of gaudy leather. Some of them draw streamers behind them in the water. Many just swim -- having intended to make a costume or float, I daresay, but not having been quite organized enough.

I was perhaps the only spectator who watched the parade with zir own plain eyes, flying around in enough heat to make my feathers curl. Most other people saw it from the windows of the houses on the banks of the canals, or through scrying-spells, or didn’t.

It was great fun, be assured.

Afterwards I kissed Spirshash. I didn’t even let him kiss me -- I kissed him.

There is no bowl large enough to hold the measure of doom I have poured for myself.

Doom for Dinner [9 Oix 4260]

Spirshash, as I well knew, is lightly married to two other Orren students. Spirshash, as I could plainly see, was playing one head of a three-headed water costume. Evidently I cannot put one and two together, or not so quickly as to realize that I should not give Spirshash his thorough kissing in front of his husband and his wife.

So three Orren and one thoroughly doomed Zi Ri took dinner together tonight.

Husband: Oostmarine. A third-year student, minor nobility (I think administrative rather than land-owning) from somewhere in Vheshrame, very tall, water magic and history of outer Mrasteia and design of emblems. He has never met a Zi Ri before. He did not seem to know that Spirshash had been chasing me last month. He picked Spirshash up and tossed him in the canal, right after the kiss. At dinner he jabbed Spirshash with every third phrase, referring to me as "your [Spirshash's] surprise", and was punctiliously polite and correct in his manners towards me, doing just precisely the very least that could be done without insult.

Wife: Tillissa. A fourth-year student. Major nobility, I think a non-inheriting child of a count in one of Vheshrame's client states, which probably means she'll end up as minor nobility or a major official in her own right. She has not yet settled on a topic of study, and probably won't, and it will probably serve her just as well not to -- she'll know a little about everything, enough to be in charge of whatever she ends up in charge of, but not so much that she'll think she's an expert and get in the way of the actual experts. She knew everything; she is in my Flirtatious Dance class and has seen me and Spirshash before; she is his confidante; she had read my letter to Spirshash, and she calmed him down and, um, reassured him of his attractiveness, after he got it. She was reasonably pleasant to me.

It was a terribly nervous and aggressive meal. I can't remember what we ate. Fish, I guess.

I haven't decided yet. I am thinking that I might as well sleep with Spirshash. I'm getting a full measure of the trouble; I might as well get laid for it.

Thery wanted to know this of all her friends, for some unaccountable reason. I do not understand Rassimel.

1. What does your first name mean? My name was chosen more for the sound of it than any particular meaning. Also it must be different from the names of all other Zi Ri who have ever lived or will ever live. There is no way to tell such a thing, however, so Zi Ri names are traditionally quite long. I didn't manage to memorize mine until last year or so. Insofar as it means anything at all -- and one has to listen for echoes of words in archaic languages in the syllables -- it might be understood to mean "Seven hundred and twenty-nine feathers stood before the farmer-mages, and beside them were stone and hezarion magical devices. Winds arose and departed, but birds were roasted with plentiful garlic." Or you could interpret it quite otherwise: e.g., the part from 'hezarion' on could be read as "Tillipikka, the weaver, sows his fields with tepid barley provided by the prostitute. Memorable parakeet!"

2. Your middle name, do you have one? That was the first half. It's pretty arbitrary where you cut it, really.

3. What does it (your middle name) mean?

4. What about that name at the end (unless you're a Jr. or III or something), what about that one? "Nearby, certain guardians of guntries collided while they were tending their flocks. Axes were espaliered prohibitively [or 'while vodka' if you prefer]. Crying circumnavigated the previous night. Here! Without-two-or-more-Orren-surveyors! Magnificence is cheap, but iridescence is everlasting."

5. So, if you were to put the meanings of all your names together, what would it say? Somewhat less than the two halves individually.

6. If you'd been born the opposite sex, what would your parents have named you? That's a very confusing question, as there is only one sex of Zi Ri. I daresay it would be something along the lines of "Kevzadhones", which is to say, "deformed".

Advice From Everyone

Havune says I shouldn't. Havune says Spirshash, while appealing in more respects than I am currently aware of, is so volatile that I am far too young for him.

Thery says I should. Thery says I have been longing out loud for someone to play with ever since I came to school, and probably years before. She says that Spirshash will abandon me ages before the difference in our lifespan becomes a problem -- not only will I not need to outlive whatever mistakes I make (and she says that your first voluntary lover always brings mistakes), he will obligingly scamper away from them.

Yarwain says I should too. He points out that as a twice-married man, Spirshash should have some measure of understanding of how to be pleasant to a companion.

Dustweed sounded pained by the whole conversation, and ventured no opinion.

I do not want to ask my sibling.

How does one even think about this sort of thing?

Equipment for a Seduction [10 Oix 4260]

When one glides silently towards an Orren, as for prey, one might well choose among these things:

1. SETTING
   • A shady grove in Ghaln-Yastrou Park, surrounded by high bushes.
   • A promise from Dustweed that zie will go study at the library for an evening.
   • The cooperation of the Orren's wife in arranging a private room.
2. SUPPLIES
   • A horn of brandy
   • A bottle of oil
   • A pouch of dried spiced fishes.
3. APPROACH
   • A direct invitation
   • A roundabout reminder of once-made offers
   • A recommendation from a friendly wife.

Wish me luck, and good decisions.

Result of a Seduction

He refused! He turned me down! He denied me! He spurned me!

He didn't even sound upset, the lout!

I shall write more later. For now I am quite too upset!

Later

Tillissa, Spirshash's wife and a bit of a socialite, had recommended to him that he and I spend an evening together. Wine was acquired -- excellent wine, godlike wine, which would not have been out of place at a lesser table in the ducal palace; I know this, for that is where I acquired it. Dustweed was duly evicted from our shared room.

Spirshash and I drank excellent godlike wine, and spoke of dancing and friends, of river foam and the habits of antlered pigeons during Surprise. I sat on his shoulder; I curled my tail elegantly around his arm; I licked around the edge of his cookie-shaped ear with a delicate forky tongue. He turned his head aside. I curled my neck to look him in the face. "Is all well?" I asked.

"All is not well," he answered. "Wine is well; chatting is well; dancing is well. After much thought I must say that kissing is not well, and detailed flirting is not well."

"You did not mention this the last time a kissing arose, Spirshash!" I fear that my breath scorched the fur on his shoulder, and perhaps contributed to the harshness of the ensuing conversation.

He curled his tail over his lap, covering his kilt. "I had thought little enough, or less. Now..."

"What, precisely, is not well about kissing and more heavily entwined flirtation?"

He looked both determined and despondent. "After much thought, I have come to think that I am too much a libertine. I shall restrict my attentions to my own species and, in general, to women thereof, Oostmarine excepted."

"When we first met , you ridiculed Thery for being cisaffectionate. Now you will almost do it yourself?"

"Love is not a safe game. Marriage, in particular, is not a game. Oostmarine was rather distressed -- especially about you. For with you, ten thousand years from now, what memory of him would there be? Only that when you took your first Orren lover you cuckolded him. This is a legacy he would rather not enjoy! Tillissa was differently distressed. She considers that you are too fickle and cruel to be a good companion for me: the letter you wrote was too Sleethsome, too cold and vicious. She has no great desire to tend me when you emotionally rip my belly open and show my liver and lungs to the gods in the sky -- she will do if she must, but thinks she would rather not. With all due respect, Sythyry, I care for my husband and for my wife more than I lust for you. Our discussion was extensive. In the end I decided that I have been less good to them than I should be ... that I have been more wicked than I should be. So for the near while I plan to be cisaffectionate, and, indeed, faithful."

There was nothing more to be said. It took about two and a half hours of shouting and hissing to say this nothing. In the end, only Dustweed's return stopped us from saying nothing to each other, loudly and angrily saying, with much bitterness.

I would swear off all mammals for the while as horrid, wicked creatures, save only that I wept in Thery's arms and got some comfort there.

And now I am putting seven or eight logs on the fire in the bedroom, hot Surprise be cursed and raked, and there I shall sleep for the long while.

Dancers at the End of Oix [27 Oix 4260]

For reasons best known to the instructors ... hah! For reasons best not known to either instructor, but lost in the confusion between them (have I mentioned recently that I detest Orren?)... the Flirtatious Dancing class was scheduled for today -- which is to say, the last day of hot Surprise -- rather than tomorrow when it will be much, much cooler.

Thus, dancing.

Thus, to be more specific, dancing with members of the class selected by lottery.

Thus, to be even more specific, dancing with members of the proper species of the class selected by lottery.

Thus, to be painfully specific, dancing with members of the species least represented that day, because there are no other members of the proper species in the class.

Thus, to be so specific that I snort sparks, dancing with Orren as usual, selected by lottery...

Have I mentioned recently that I detest Orren?

Thus, to be specific to the fine sharp point of a fang, dancing with Tillissa.

I did not breathe flames upon her. I did not look her in the eyes and smile as we promenaded. I did not claw her forearm. I did not kiss her in the final twirl of the dance. I did not cast some sort of spell of itchiness upon her. I did not say a nice thing to her after the dance was over.

The instructors were less than pleased with me for half of these. They should have been more than pleased with me for the other half, but (have I mentioned recently that I detest Orren?) they were not.

Instead they gave a brief impromptu lecture on proper etiquette of dealing with people who have recently rejected one's advances. I tried to interrupt them, saying -- as is entirely true -- that I had not made advances upon Tillissa. The instructors -- such cruel and wicked entities both of them! -- ignored me, and traded stories of how they had insulted this or that minor noble by excessive politeness and extravagantly complementing the wrong article of clothing.

Spirshash was beside himself with snickerings.

Have I mentioned recently that I detest Orren?

Consimbs Again [1 Consimbs 4260]

Surprise and surprises are over. It's cool again, and so am I. I evidently even made a new Orren friend last night: Real-Eel, a very advanced student in ... in ... she told me last night, but I can't remember. Actually I don't remember much about last night: I went with Havune to a big party sort of thing, half Cani and half assorted other people, and wound up eating a whole gopher and drinking three chalices of fortified wine, and practicing Flirtatious Dancing at Real-Eel. Havune informs me that I spent most of the evening in her lap, getting scritched, but that nothing interesting happened.

He is wrong. Something interesting did happen. The gopher turned out to be stuffed with offirrah and bread. I know that fermented snakes with half-rotten garlic and pepper sounds really disgusting to anyone but Cani, but ... damp it down with a lot of bread, and bake it inside a gopher, and don't let the innocent Zi Ri know what zie's eating, and it's remarkably good.

And, of course, I have now realized that I am hideously, terribly attracted to Orren, since I evidently go sit on them when I am drunk. This is unfortunate. I don't suppose many Zi Ri are cisaffectionate, unless they're actually mated or some such... I have no great wish to become physically intimate with my obnoxious, wicked 600-year-older-than-me sister. But why couldn't I be attracted to Rassimel? It would be much simpler.

Dustweed had zir own private party in the apartment last night, from the looks of things: a bottle of cheap wine, a pot of Khtsoyis narcotic tea, and crying on the couch. I'm getting a bit worried about zir -- does anyone have any clue what's wrong? Or any suggestions about what to do?

A Hideous Obsession [3 Consimbs 4260]

I'm doomed.

I'm so doomed.

I have actually acquired a taste for offirrah. To the extent that I now have a moderate-sized stout maroon-glazed clay pot in the pantry. It is well-sealed with wax. It has to be well-sealed with wax; if it is not, Thery and Dustweed can smell it and complain to me with force and vigor. Even if it is sealed, Havune can smell it, but it's his fault that it's there.

Yesterday's lunch: three boiled songbird eggs with a drop of offirrah on each one, and five grapes.

Yesterday's second lunch: a large biscuit and a bit of Thery's shrimp-cream and a couple chub-beetles. With a drop of offirrah in the shrimp-cream.

Yesterday's supper: Some spinach with honey and powdered venison; a pren; and, in a moment of mania, a bit of bread with farmer's cheese (stolen from Dustweed) and offirrah.

Yesterday's midnight snack: Bits of stolen farmer's cheese dipped in offirrah.

Today's breakfast: Tea and porridge with a glop of offirrah in the porridge. And cream. Cream and offirrah.

Today's lunch: breath-grilled small squashes and spinach, with offirrah cream on them.

Today's second lunch: Chub-beetles and noodles. Even an obsessed Zi Ri can't have offirrah at every meal. Though I thought about it...

Today's supper: Guntry tongue and dumplings in wine sauce. With a small clawful of offirrah in the sauce. Alas!

I'm sure this is going to be trouble...

Moping [4 Consimbs 4260]

In case you were wondering, I did not feed Dustweed any offirrah. It would make zir sick. Not in the sense it makes Thery sick: Herethroy cannot digest meat. No, zie's not ill. Zie's moping. Moping forwards and moping backwards. I'd suspect zie was lovesick except that zie doesn't seem to have any friends of zir own species.

I, too, am moping somewhat, but I am moping more determinedly and more properly, over politics. The Duke of Vheshrame has removed my sister from most of zir honorary positions -- zie was Bishop of the Roll'gainst Quarter, and Lord Summoner of the Legeriat, and .. four or five other titles which added up to half a day's work each year, and about sixty thousand lozens a year. Not a little bit of money! Not a little bit of honor! But zie had accumulated those titles over the last couple hundred years, and the current Duke decided that he wanted to reward some of his friends. And the next time that Hezimikkainen scolded him and urged him to take the long view of his latest building project, he stripped zir of all the titles that were strippable.

Not that zie has to move out of zir suite in the ducal palace or anything. Not that zir weekly stipend isn't fifty times my annual one. Not that zie won't be a major power in Vheshrame when the current Duke's statues have rotted of old age.

Sweet Music of Love [6 Consimbs 4260]

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

It's the agreed-upon date night for the other room. Havune is off we know not where, doing we know not what with or to we know not who. Yarwain took Thery to a student production of Fessisandra and Ulute, and then returned here. However, sometime Thery's bed, which is as old as my sister and in considerably worse shape, got slid next to the wall. They haven't realized it though. They are distracted.

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

Dustweed is, predictably, rather annoyed. It is now well after the middle of the night, but one cannot expect Rassimel to understand such things. She and I are putting together a special Date Night treat of vodka, skullcap, and earplugs.

"Bad enough that we're all gummed up in chastity, without having it hammered into us," I said to zir.

Zie shrugged. That is a complicated and a peculiar gesture from a Herethroy! "You're better off than me."

"Can't you get your parents to arrange a marriage for you? I hear that noble Herethroy do that now and then."

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

Zie must have been in a terrible temper, that late at night with all the thumping. "I asked. They only would do it the wrong way -- and it was that or the academy, not both."

"The wrong way? In an orifice which, by design, is normally only used for 'out'?"

Zie laughed a bit. "Basically. As a female."

"That does sound a bit unnatural. Besides, female Herethroy don't always get married, do they?"

"That was their point, exactly." Zie -- not she, but zie -- finished zir vodka, poured zirself another chaliceful, finished it off at a single draught the way that Herethroy can, and stood up. "I should be drunk enough to sleep now. G'night, little scaly thing."

"Um ... g'night, Dustweed."

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

Some nights, late, I manage to have no favorite roommate. This is logically impossible, I know, and during the day I cannot do it. At night, awake, drunk -- each one is strictly more annoying and distressing than the other two put together.

I shall blame Havune for this. If he were here, he would pay attention to where the bed was.

I'll bet a taptet that he moved Thery's bed over for some reason, and she forgot to move it back...

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

*THOOM*

Current Music: The Music Of Love. (Base line only)

Orren Make Good Furniture [7 Consimbs 4260]

Actually Orren don't make good furniture, they simply make enthusiastic furniture. The Orren in question is Real-Eel, a very advanced student in Enchantment. Finally I can use my heritage for some mighty purpose! She is a bit impressed with the name 'Glikkonen'. One might almost suspect that she were trying to use me to winkle zir secrets out of zir, but, in fact, she doesn't seem interested in that.

[For more information on Glikkonen, see the World Tree sourcebook. -bb]

She took me fishing. Orren style.

Now, I'm about the right size for it, but I'm not the right shape exactly, and on the whole I prefer to keep my feathers dry. But, Real-Eel had made a charm out of a tooth that got knocked out of her mouth last year, which lets one breathe water as if it were air, and she has a Ruloc Aquador spell called Umbrella of the Living Flame which can keep even a fire dry underwater. With these two things, swimming is just like flying, except that (1) you can't levitate, and (2) the air is very very heavy. Oh, and if you're in the public pond, there are fish all around you. We chased each other around through pondweeds and glass-coral, and caught fat buskies, and had quite the excellent time ... until the Umbrella of the Living Flame gave out, and it felt rather more like Bathtub full of Living Squids. No danger really -- the charm will live as long as I will -- but it was hideous and wet.

Real-Eel dragged me out. That charm lets you breathe water; it's not like the more standard spell that turns water to air. So, of course, my nose was full of water. I didn't think of that when I took the charm off to give back ... so there I was, choking on the pondside, coughing up great gouts of steam at Real-Eel when she was trying to rescue me. I was thoroughly and properly embarrassed.

But -- and I should take pains to remember this! -- there is no excuse like "You saved my life!" for curling up in the arms of an appealing lifesaver. I quite happily spent the next hour or two curled up with my muzzle full of brown fur!

Breath-grilled sardines are not quite as good an excuse. I suppose if I had the right kind of breath-strengthener I could get them crispy and delightful, but if I'm going to breathe for any length of time, it's not much more than a glorified candleflame. Which is to say, if you want to cook a busky, the front end is cool before the back end isn't raw.

(Next time I shall grill one bite at a time for her. If that's not romantic, I don't know what is.)

I do believe I don't hate Orren any more!

History of Real-Eel [18 Consimbs 4260]

Hisss! Real-Eel explained where she got that breathing spell: it was a gift from Nestrune Kreslink. Evidently they were rather an item for a good month and a half early in the term.

At risk of telling this story backwards: the original plan was that, after Nestrune fleered at the senior students and refused to walk naked through the buttery, the senior students were to play a serious sort of prank on him. Real-Eel was to seduce him off to a presumably private room, but insist that she was distressingly dry about the privates, and that the best sort of wetness that could be achieved -- which is to say, one that would not push her to taking water-form -- was a raw egg cracked over the male's protuberance, and well rubbed in. As the egg was being cracked (Real-Eel fully dressed, Nestrune bare from belly to tailtip), the illusory wall of the presumably private room was dropped, revealing a half-dozen students disguised as faculty, and much amusement was to be had.

It didn't quite work out that way. By the time the illusion was dropped, both of them were thoroughly undressed, and, as far as the story goes, not a bit unhappy about it. The egg was not applied to Nestrune's intimate extension; instead, it was tossed at the gentleman who was imitating Professor Achitka. There was much laughter, but not all directed at Nestrune, as would have been proper. He brought out several bottles of port and brandy, and appeased the others that way. After which, he and Real-Eel disappeared together, and reappeared the next morning rather holding hands a lot.

Five weeks later, they broke up over a political argument. Real-Eel is quite the firefish! She takes the political position of ditlocracy: that rulership should be redistributed every twenty-seven years. So, each month of years, all nobles lose their titles; all legeriats and judges and such are replaced. And, in Real-Eel's more radical thoughts, even the very forms of government are replaced. One cycle it might be the natural kind of government; in the next, there might be three levels of greater nobility, or only one; in the one after that, perhaps only scholars are qualified to rule.

There's a great deal more to say about that. Nestrune and Real-Eel said it at length, in public, and, by the fifth week, as much with flung beverages as with words.

I'm not sure what I think of this. Nestrune's bootprints are not the ones my feet fit best. And I am, if anything, less suited for ditlocracy than any mortal would be.

End of the Term [27 Consimbs 4260]

And here are my final projects or topics in each of my courses: Tempador Magic: A routine exercise, nothing greatly different from the others we have done in the class. How complex is a spell for use when one has just called one's current lover the wrong name, and one wishes to rewrite recent time to have said the proper one -- but one has not (for whatever reasons of distraction, the professor did not specify) realized one's mistake instantly, instead giving the current lover the opportunity to express displeasure?

Actually the assignment was not so specific as to mention that it was to be used for that circumstance. I know what he meant though. (I'm still working on this.)

The Study of Arithmetical Differences: The third movement of each of Pireleus' seven symphonies is based on a sequence of seven to fifteen notes -- spectral notes, that is, in a musical notation which gives each distinct note that the Rassimel ear can hear its own number. (I don't understand where the numbers came from -- they're not arranged in any sensible order to me.)

The topic is to decide if Pireleus based his symphonies upon the Study of Arithmetical Differences. (My approach: solve all the sequences of notes, and compare the official emotional connotation of the solution with the mood of the symphony. The Symphony Honoring Bread, with a 15-note sequence, is fourteenth degree, so probably not based on any numerics at all. The Symphony for a Time of Harvest, 12 notes, third degree -- but the solution is 2, which ought to stand for Peace and Construction, but the symphony is very violent and quarrelsome.

So I said "no".

I was wrong. Pireleus, in his autobiography, said he used mathematics for six of the seven (but not Bread). But he used a different numerology, the one in common use in his branch of course, in which 2 was violent and quarrelsome. We had never learned that there were other systems of numerology in this class.

My grade: "Well-Reasoned".

This was a trick question! Nestrune got tricked! Nestrune read the autobiography, and told the story just the way Pireleus did. His grade: "Deviously Discovered". The Duke and the Duchess of Daukrhame are said to be displeased with this grade.

Much gloating from the fireplace!

And a certain amount of happiness that Nestrune took that autobiography out of the library, so that he alone of the class would have it, before I thought of looking for it.

For Ancient Ketherian History, I have read five first-hand accounts of the first wars against the cyarr. It amused my teacher to no end to have me catalog the references in them to my devastating grandparent, and dissect in some detail why Chruff the Bold and all the healers were so annoyed with zir.

Fortunately my grandparent never mentioned anything about that to me. Zie generally talks about whatever zie's excited by at the moment. So I am not so worried about being graded "Deviously Discovered".

Current Politics of Aradrueia: A very routine and extremely safe essay explaining why the policies of the current Duke of Vheshrame are the best for all concerned, including in particular the Duke's political and military enemies.

I heard a certain trace of bitterness in the teacher's voice at this. Rumor has it that three years ago, the assignment concerned a similar topic but had a different focus ... and Darwenna the daughter of the Great General was in the class. (For those of you from other cities, the Great General is the highest military rank in Vheshrame. In theory she is the duke's equal, though of course in Vheshrame nobody is really the duke's equal.) There was a dinner party ... Poor Darwenna, who had done superbly on that years' assignment and really understood and believed her material, decided to discuss the matter with the Duke directly. At some length, with some vehemence. By the end of the dinner party, Darwenna was no longer the likely candidate (nor even the plausible candidate) to be the next Great General.

In any case, my grade here was "Pleasantly Stated", and in the class as a whole, "Generally Suitable."

Flirtatious Dancing: The Orgonzona is a seven-person dance: three Herethroy, four bipeds, and I count as a biped. (No, the bipeds don't flirt with the Herethroy. Just each other.) It is very fast. The Herethroy, at one point, take three steps backwards while gazing longingly at each other, as the bipeds are getting back to places. I cannot walk on my hind legs fast enough! A great hulking blue-carapaced insect stepped on my left wing! Three times! Finally the instructor let me fly back to place in that part.

My grade in the class: "Proper Intentions". [A poor grade, saying that the student intended to do well but was unable to for reasons that were not particularly the student's fault. -bb]

At least Spirshash walked me back home, with me riding on his shoulder, and kissed a bit at the door. "Proper Intentions" there, too, if one is a bit generous with the meaning of "Proper".

The Sallad of the Bad Cafe [2 Hivvem 4260]

Yes, they actually spelled it "sallad" on the menu. Do not think that the Milkrather Grill is illiterate! They were pretending to be all archaik [sic] and traditional and all. Thery of course noted that it should have been spelled "sallet", if they were going to bother spelling it anciently. But I'm getting ahead of the story.

Every class was over! Every examination was written, and in the terrible claws of the teachers for grading and possible interment! Most of us had most of our grades already, and there wasn't even too terribly much suspense about waiting around for the rest.

And that, according to archaik student tradition and sheer common sense, called for a celebration!

So, the five of us (me; Dustweed; Havune; Thery; Yarwain) went to see the jabow dancers. Jabow dancing is not entirely a new phenomenon. In the old days -- archaik, if you like -- extroverted Orren sorcerers skilled in Mutoc Corpador would sometimes take the shapes of elegant beasts and dance before their villages. Now, with spellbinding, they can give those shapeshifting spells to a whole troupe of equally enthusiastic but less magically potent Orren.

So, the jabow dancers turn into fisher-jabows. These aren't the jaran-jabows that adventurers worry about, the huge three-headed birds that peck with the force of hammers and toss corrosive spiral pink fires about. Fisher-jabows are three-headed magenta storks, more or less. They eat fish, and sometimes they fight Orren (but only Orren in water form) for the fish, but they're basically harmless.

And elegant!

So, five or six Orren turned into fisher-jabows, and cavorted on stage to the accompaniment of lute and harpsichord, violin and reed flute. Do not mistake these instruments for the elegant ones you might find in a count's parlor! They are coarse but enthusiastic, and as lively as a pack of Orren who mistook kathia for fish soup!

(Actually, I may already have mistaken them, but I'm not a musician so I don't know the proper names. 'Fiddle', maybe, instead of 'violin'.)

And the fisher-jabows cavorted and pranced and flapped their wings, clicking their beaks as extra instruments, twining their necks together. It was great fun, and I am not doing it justice.

After which, of course, we went to the Milkrather Cafe. Yarwain had remembered the Milkrather Cafe as being a calm and unpretentious sort of place, but it had been discovered by the lesser nobility in the intervening two years, which meant that the prices were much higher and the menu had gotten floofier. We decided to stay anyways, for it was getting late.

And I ordered the Rampaging Bird Salad. Rampaging Bird is a common enough appetizer: fatty bits of your favorite eating bird are stuck on skewers, rubbed with spicy butter, grilled, and dipped in a fearsome pepper-vinegar sauce and presented to you like so many weapons. It is served as spicy as anything in the region's cuisine; people sometimes get into too-spicy-eating contests with it instead of with just plain hot peppers. Since it is so hot, it is served with a bowl of sour cream to calm it down. Eating the sour cream is bad form in the contest.

Anyways! I did not have a Rampaging Bird appetizer. I had a Rampaging Bird Dinner Sallad. It has come to my attention that I am not quite properly Zi-Ri-sleek anymore, and that I should be just a bit careful and maybe evict a few ounces of weight. Hence the salad, which was advertised to be bits of non-fatty parts of the bird, not greatly buttered before grilling, served on a big pile of greens, and in all ways a good and moderate food of considerable flavor. Even if it was spelled "sallad".

Well, it had considerable flavor.

When a Zi Ri vomits, it is not pleasant. Our natural fires heat the vomitus, often making it boil and steam. Our natural fire resistance is not as good against steam -- or at least, when we are sufficiently sickened to be vomiting, the fire resistance is shaky. So in addition to the noxious flavors and stinging acid that, say, Rassimel must endure, we also get steam burns.

The sallad was like that.

The meat and leaves and such were all fine, really. The dressing ... they had poured a great quantity of fearsome pepper-vinegar sauce over it, and a moderate quantity of sour cream, by way of dressing. The pepper-vinegar sauce was the sort of thing you'd dip an oily buttery fatty grilled bird bit into and nibble it delicately, unless you are trying to impress someone with the fortitude of your mouth and tongue, which I wasn't 'cause none of the Orren I am halfheartedly chasing was there. The sour cream was exceedingly sour. Havune, nose-sharp as any Cani, gave me an odd look, but was too polite to ask the question that might have saved me (viz. "Are you sure you want to eat that? That sour cream is rather on the turned side").

In proper Rampaging Bird appetizers, the hot sauce and the sour cream combine in pleasing ways: the hot sauce tingles and invigorates; the sour cream smoothes and calms; and together they maintain an excellent combination of decorum and excitement.

In the Sallad of the Bad Cafe, they combined the other way. The rottenness of the sour cream conspired with the viciousness of the sauce, leaving the nice and tasty halves of the two condiments aside. I took a bite or two: "This is not very nice ... where have I tasted that before?" I took another bite or three. "Oh... the time I was severely sick when I was eleven."

Yes, it was that bad. The cafe had done a splendidly accurate reconstruction of the flavor, as near as I can remember. It wasn't steaming exactly -- I have no actual burns -- but the croutons were very very hard, to the point of leaving scrapes and cuts inside my mouth, which is probably worse or at least more embarrassing to talk about.

Thery was kind enough to share her sandwich with me. But it was sweet potted wudgeon with almond butter and sardines: a traditional combination for one holiday a year, but not one I enjoy elsetimes. And after the taste of the Sallad, I was quite hungry and quite afraid of eating.

I ate about the fifth part of a dinner between the Sallad and the sandwich, and tossed two lozens on the table, and fled the Bad Cafe.

For the rest of dinner, I had a bit of rum and went to sleep. I couldn't face solid food. The Sallad was that bad.

Pazi-Pazi [4 Hivvem 4260]

Now we have a cat. She is named Pazi-Pazi; her fur is very bright blue; she weighs a bit more than I do. She enjoys stalking me. Fortunately she is not fireproof, so if I stoke my bed well enough she does not molest me there -- she lurks on mantleplace, leering at me hungrily or playfully.

I am not the one that she is supposed to hunt.

The Cani roommate sniff-sniff-sniffs one night. "Please empty every chamberpot, Thery."

"I did, Havune," said Thery.

"It's some sort of mammal, and that leaves out Dustweed and Sythyry -- unless Sythyry's had much better luck with one or another of those Orren than I had heard about," said Havune.

Further sniffing was performed. The mystery mammal's chamberpot was in the pantry... Pantry is too glorious a name for it, but here we pretend to glory in all respects. It is a closet in the kitchen. Nuts were there in baskets, grain were in leather bags thumped unceremoniously on shelves by very tired Dustweed; dried fruit was stacked in loose-lidded pottery jugs; twice-smoked sausages were piled on top of cardboard boxes of crackers.

The feast for the little mouse! The feast for the little mouse and half a dozen children! Little stinky pellets all over the shelf!

We named "Sneaky Veffu" after the children's story. We hunted the mouse. We took every food out of the pantry. I left a bound Crawly Sparks on a cookie. In the night a crackling zap, a dead mouse!

Two cley, one mouse. We repeat this, three times, until there are no more mice.

I am the one who must clean out the shelf. It narrows towards the back, and everyone else is far too big. Thery stuffed a pillow under her shirt to make sure everyone knew how big she was.

Hence, we acquire Pazi-Pazi. Pazi-Pazi is a used cat: she was abandoned by one of Real-Eel's former roommates, and Real-Eel grudgingly tended her until, well, Havune and I requisitioned her services. Havune instantly requisitioned her affections as well, by devious Cani tricks, scritching and feeding and all of that.

I, of course, was left with the dregs of her emotions. When there are no mice, I am her favorite prey ... along with Thery's tail, or a tuft of wool tied on a string waved by anyone at all. She is a fierce, fierce beast!

And so I shall pile the fire high tonight, and have dreams of miniature Sleeth seeking me for all the wrong reasons...

But better than mice!

Nudity for All! [5 Hivvem 4260]

An eager artist has tried to bribe the four of us to sit for a polyspecific portrait. I don't know what will come of it. Fortunately there are no Orren here, or we might not all be able to sit still for an hour or two.

Since the portrait may or may not ever be done, and since most of you have never met us, here is my own portrait -- in words, since I have no skill with the sketching-point. I will do nudes. I scarcely see everyone nude every day, but I have seen.

Dustweed is ill-favored among Herethroy. [Herethroy are anthropomorphic crickets, tall and elegant and almost elvish. They have six limbs.] Zir carapace is a dull and mottled green, rather as if zie were covered with an unhealthy layer of lichen. Zie is darker and bluer on the left than on the right; more than once I have thought zie were constantly under some shadow unseen to me. Zie has a clumsy arc of nine bright red spots on the left of zir back, that look rather more like someone has slung nine little darts at zir than any particular adornment. Zir face is well-formed and pleasant, and I truly believe that if zie could get a very nice marriage if zie found two blind people. (Oh, and I have seen zir nude many times, as zie changes clothes in the room.)

Havune is a Cani with [border collie styling -bb], tall and dignified in the way that one born to minor nobility often is. I've never managed it myself, but Havune does it perfectly: tail up, ears high, eyes full of rulership. His chest and face are mostly black-furred, with a white stripe pouring between his eyes and cupping his nose and mouth and. His chest is white, save for a pair of little triangles pointed at each other. His fur is perfectly symmetrical. There is a small bottle of Ospillicker's Fur Dye (Black) which ensures that it remains so -- the upper triangle, without the dye, would be smaller and more isosceles than the equilateral lower one. His breasts are all the same size, and if he's got a bottle of something that does that, I have yet to see it. (He frequently wore little or nothing during Surprise, when it was so hot.)

Thery is a wand of a woman: tall for a Rassimel (she is taller than Havune), with thin-but-not-that-thin rings around her eyes and tail. Most of her fur is a thick warm amber-brown, like honey diluted to syrup with kathia. When she is unclothed around me, she always keeps her tail curled around her more personal bits. It is simply a strong inference of mine that she is female. I suppose, if it comes to it, my own sex is the most straightforward: Zi Ri have only the one choice. Havune would be second-clearest, and Thery third-clearest. Dustweed, of course ... who can tell what sex an insect is, except another insect, or a Cani or Sleeth? But back to Thery... She wears a little necklace in the shape of a leaping charger, which Yarwain got her at the start of the term. I believe she sleeps with it: at least, when she is dashing for the bathroom in the morning in such a hurry that she doesn't wear a robe, and knocking the innocent Zi Ri out of the way, she was wearing it. It caught my left wing. That's the only time I've seen her entirely without clothing. I am given to understand Yarwain has seen more. I am rambling too much! I must go decide what to learn next term!

Choosing Courses [4 Nivvem 4260]

Now it is time to fret about the selection of courses again. (Nobody else in the apartment, I may add, is fretting about the selection of courses. They are being painted by an art student.)

It is clearly time for me to study Corpador magic, and a bit more Enchantment. These are entirely practical things, from which I will earn some sort of tolerable wage over the next few years or decades; they are entirely respectable things for a young Zi Ri to study.

An actual class in Deepening of Understanding is also required: not simply the occasional project, but an organized class. (It has come to my attention that not all readers are familiar with this topic as an actual class. It is about being smart, not simply knowing many things. One is given a variety of case studies, and one is encouraged to think of sensible reasons or explanations or solutions, as the case may be. One is given exercises in which the main point is to figure out a sensible way to do them. For example, one may be called upon to put a live fish into a wine bottle -- or, perhaps, to design a method in which one might build a business that sold live fish in wine bottles to Orren tourists. No answer, I understand, is ever good enough; but some are less poor than others.)

If I am too respectable, though, Hezimikkainen will think I am too respectable. Or something. In any case, I don't want to do it. Flirtatious Dancing was a disaster and a half last term, for (1) being entirely too respectable; (2) encouraging me to acquire an interest in certain of the Wrong Sort of People (viz. Orren), and (3) for failing to lead to any sort of satisfactory ending with the Wrong Sort of People.

Nonetheless, some sort of physical activity is required -- by the academy's rules, if not by my own body. Archery has certain advantages. It is fairly inactive as physical activities go. I'm quite sure that the academy does not have a bow in my size; I could probably get away with borrowing an enchanted bow from some relative or other, which would, presumably, make the class very easy. (And that's not cheating, I might add -- when, in future life, might I possibly use a bow that was not enchanted?) Spelunking is the alternative. It actually sounds fun, which archery does not. It takes good advantage of my small size. (It does not take good advantage of my glorious plumage!) And there are Rumors -- sometimes, even, Glorious Rumors -- of what can go on in side caves on the longer trips.

I'd also like something amusing, and, if at all possible, easy. On this topic I have few good ideas: Famous Collections? Liminal Flora and Fauna? Studies in Urban Nobility? Important Battles in History? Something quite other?

Courses Chosen [5 Nivvem 4260]

Spelunking it is, on the advice of everyone, and Famous Collections, after I asked around about the teachers of the other classes.

(Liminal Flora and Fauna is open to anyone, but all students must be able to take some small aquatic form for the numerous field trips, so it's really limited to Orren and people on good terms with Real-Eel and her ilk. By the by, the reason that Real-Eel has that water breathing spell is that she works as a guide on the field trips for the class. I could take it -- I'm already the right size, so I'd just need the water breathing spell -- but I'm sort of trying to cut down on Orren just now. (And that doesn't explain why I fell asleep in Flooosh's oven last night. (And don't take that the wrong way! The big leather-and-brick oven in the back of her bakery, ordinarily used for bread.)))

(Studies in Urban Nobility is taught by one Prof. Mongrelle Gostunard, and yes, that's her real name. Rassimel. Known for taking bribes, mostly in the form of chances to meet real urban nobility of various cities. The grades in her class are pretty much determined by your family's (1) rank, (2) distance, and (3) willingness to have a random Rassimel professor as a guest. Glikkonen does adequately on (1), terribly on (2), and probably terribly on (3). In any case the class's lecture is generally a long list of personal anecdotes of times when Prof. Gostunard has been guest of this or that great noble. An excellent class for the scions of the local nobility. Which, I presume, is why Prof. Gostunard is still Prof. Gostunard and not Publicly Whipped And Humiliated And Punished Gostunard.)

(Important Battles in History is taught by Prof. Dharvis. I have heard nothing bad about Prof. Dharvis, except that twenty-nine years ago he seduced and married one of his senior students -- or that she did to him. Even that was awfully proper and correct; the engagement was announced the day after grades were final, and her grade was precisely in the middle of the class. Anyways, Prof. Dharvis is, supposedly, not as good a lecturer as Prof. Yrrkyrr who teaches Famous Collections.)

Two more things. There is now a Very Famous Painting hanging over the dining room table. If I do not see enough of my roommates when they are present, I am now privileged to see them when they are absent as well. Tethezai did a splendid job of it, I must say.

And I fell asleep in Flooosh's oven, as mentioned previously. I had been lurking around at the end of the day. Someone brought back a box of poptaloops [little sticky buns with a dot of sweet bean paste at the top - bb] and complained that Lord and Lady Dunderhead, or whoever it was he worked for, said they weren't properly baked. There was the expression of regret! There was the slicing of four poptaloops in half with a big sharp meng-nut knife! There was the expression of perplexity that the poptaloops appeared perfectly baked! There was the angry discussion! There was the expression of high rank of Lord and Lady Dunderhead as compared with Flooosh! There was the grudging refund given! There was the ungracious thanks produced by the servant! There was the flinging of the now-unsellable and perfectly baked poptaloops into the oven, in a snit of anger! There was the helpful expression of sympathetic angerathetic by the Zi Ri! There was the offer that said Zi Ri could eat any of the now-slightly-toasted poptaloops that zie wanted to fetch out of the oven! There was the devouring of five poptaloops.

Poptaloops toast up very nicely indeed. But two of them make a respectable dinner for a small feathered lizard. Five was ... well ... I slept very very well. And Havune was merciless to me about sleeping with an Orren all night and still not getting laid.

Spelunking! [6 Nivvem 4260]

Thanks to all who compelled me to take spelunking! Ghurmanesh Cavern (which is no longer inhabited by ghurmanesh) is quite a sight to see. [A ghurmanesh is the shadow of a lion with no lion to cast it; they are sentient and mighty with fire magic.] You go into a little hole in a hillside, and squirm around through half a mile of tiny muddy little tubes with old tree roots grabbing at your feathers and wishing you had a Sleeth Eyes spell grafted so you could see better, and then the tube dips down and around and down and through a cold waterfall and down and around and you’re glad you can fly instead of clambering and levitating like everyone else in the class, and you come into the Big Old Chamber.

A long time ago, when ghurmanesh actually lived here, they used their extra cley on decorations. The rollward wall is covered with portraits of the people and monsters who were their friends, painted in flames of a dozen colors, and if you fly near them the wind of your passage stirs their flames as if they were fur. (That looks better for furry-faced Rassimel Lord Dorrington than for Seven-stripes the Herethroy next to him, mind you). In the center of the room there are three linked smoke rings, black and green and black again. On the roll’gainst side are some of the ghurmanesh trophies: the eight shadows of a chromodon’s eight heads. The heads themselves have long since rotted away, but the ghurmanesh cut the shadows off and preserved them somehow.

That must have been quite a battle to watch, two of the scariest kinds of monsters beating each other up in a magical hate-match of a duel, leaving the chromodon and half the ghurmanesh dead, with the primes doing their best to look serious and just as if they hadn't caused the duel in the first place. And two years later Vheshrame city was founded a couple miles away, and that would be the beginning of the end of the ghurmanesh living in the area. I don’t know when exactly they left, or how.

Anyways, the trip was all great fun. Except that next time I shall ask Flooosh to pack me an Orren-style lunch. The sandwich she made didn’t do all that well going through the waterfall.

In other news, Dustweed is blue. And covered with stars. Tethezai somehow talked zir into being her subject for a Non-Mammalian Decorating class this term. It’s quite remarkable… Dustweed actually almost looks slightly pretty, if you can imagine that. Thery made the mistake of mentioning that to zir, and zie just scowled and looked very sad. I do not understand Dustweed.

Ah, well. Time to go get books to read and beetles to eat and beverages to drink… um … some other b_____’s to _____. Suggestions for the fourth b___ appreciated!

A Boot to the Bed [6 Hivvem 4260]

Nothing interesting is happening to me. Everyone else gets something interesting.

Real-Eel is not interesting ... Real-Eel is not interested ... Real-Eel is on to more promising pastimes than flirting with the Small Blue Cave Lizard.

(That's my nickname in the whole spelunking class now. My mistake! There was one chute to descend, where Herethroy could go down one way but you really need six limbs to climb it properly that way, and other people needed to take the longer shallower way 'round, so the teacher shouted, "Herethroy here, mammals over there!" I shouted back, "What about me?" She yelled, "Small Blue Cave Lizards, fly down near the Herethroy and do try not to sneeze anyone on fire." But never mind that.)

Tethezai is happening to Dustweed. Tethezai, it seems, is thoroughly transaffectionate -- she only dates outside her own species, and, evidently, best if it's a gender that her species doesn't even have. (Small Blue Cave Lizards are, it seems, not to her taste, which is fine with them, because they'd rather date Orrens ... or other Zi Ri if that worked at all. But never mind that either.)

Tethezai has been flirting with the Large Blue Starred Dust Insect, as nobody ever has called Dustweed. One might suppose that Tethezai got interested in Dustweed after painting zir naked ... but I've seen Dustweed naked dozens of times, and zie's really nothing to look at. Not even with the paint. But never mind that either. Dustweed is looking like a scawn who just met a Sleeth. I think zie's happy... I don't think anyone's ever flirted at zir before. I sure wouldn't.

On the other side of the apartment, All Is Not Well. Thery was distracted when she got home last night -- presumably by Yarwain -- and tossed her outer clothing all over their room. Her left boot ended up on Havune's bed. It was not removed two hours later when Yarwain left and Havune was allowed back in that room.

Havune is rather particular about precisely who and what is allowed on his bed. An equestrian boot is, it seems, not an appropriate bedmate, for Havune -- in his (possibly biased) opinion. This boot in particular had been inadequately cleaned, rendering it a less pleasant bedmate than many. Havune expressed his displeasure! Loudly!

Thery replied that she had been unavoidably distracted, and that she intended to (1) remove the boot, (2) clean the boot, and (3) clean the pillowcase. However, she felt it appropriate to (0) first let Havune into the room, since she had kept him out of it for most of the evening. She asserted that she could have done (1)-(3) before (0), but only at the cost of keeping Havune out for longer.

Havune expressed uncertainty as to why his bed should ever have been graced with the boot. And his pillow in particular! His sensitive Cani nose would be assaulted as he strove to sleep, by the stench of the street and the stable.

Well, the argument assaulted my none-too-sensitive Zi Ri ears at considerable length. Finally, and a "finally" somewhat after midnight, Dustweed glowered at them and shut them up. Well, they bickered quietly enough for us to sleep ... but the next morning they were at it again. I wish they'd stop hissing and bristling every time they see each other. A bit of peace would be awfully nice at this point. It doesn't seem currently available though.

Iniquity (or at least Inquiety) for everyone! [7 Hivvem 4260]

There was an ulgrane walking around Vheshrame this morning. I saw her.

I have come to realize that some of you are a bit foreign. So: an ulgrane is a person of about the size and shape of a large pony. It . . . she, in this case . . . has large wings, a rather equine-style beak. This one was a Lesser Magenta-Speckled Ulgrane, with only six legs: the forelegs have nasty spiny poisonous things sort of like fingers; the others have talons. They are pirates! In particular they are not primes, they are monsters, and they are absolutely not allowed in cities.

However, this one was in the city. I do not really know how to express how wrong that is. Monsters should not be in prime cities! This is the ancient law! It is like begging the gods for pain and woe! It is worse than killing your mother to get three lozens to buy a spare rake. Even letting a monster in a prime city is a crime punishable by repeated executions!

Except … some monsters aren’t monsters according to that rule. Some monsters are harmless enough. Mherobump [rhino-morphs] are often allowed in, I suppose because they’ve never particularly done anything to hurt primes, and they’re very useful for construction. Sometimes other harmless kinds are let in . . . each city-state judges harmlessness for itself, I suppose.

Vheshrame seems to have judged ulgrane as harmless enough. This is absolutely insane. Ulgrane are pirates! They frequently attack skyboats: sometimes to conquer them, sometimes to just demand tolls. Very large tolls. They don’t mind killing primes, if there’s money to be made at it. So by any reasonable city’s judgment, they should be called as monsters, and killed as soon as they got close, not let in.

But they’re not, in Vheshrame, or at least this one isn’t called as a monster. To be sure, there are two dozen city guards around the one ulgrane, and it won’t be doing anything wicked with all that. I heard a dozen rumors why not. The plausible one seemed to be that the Duke has made a treaty with a nest of ulgrane to act as scouts, or perhaps privateers, in dealing with Oorah Thrassen, and let the ulgrane queen come into the city as a particularly unusual and unbuyable favor. I also hear that the Lesser Magenta-Speckled Ulgrane are getting a particularly nice deal on selling pirated goods inside Vheshrame: only a tiny touch higher than a native merchant would get.

This whole thing is exceedingly uncomfortable: to me, and to many people around. Even native Vheshrame citizens are less than pleased. Not that Vheshrame citizens like Oorah Thrassen, which is a little city-state that fought off Vheshrame and many allies some decades ago. [c.f. the World Tree book, p.91] But allying with monsters against other primes? That sounds like a very bad idea.

So, back to the apartment, where the very bad ideas come in a smaller scale. Thery is spending the night with Yarwain, to avoid Havune. (Don’t expect her to enjoy it that much. Yarwain has two envious and rude roommates, who will tease them both if they so much as kiss seriously.) Tethezai sent Dustweed a small bird made of candied wheat. When Dustweed read the note the first time, zir antennae went straight into the air. When zie read it the second time, zie kicked me out of the room and started crying.

To join with the spirit of the times, I should go get a crush on some Orren or other, and then use tincture of wenezza [an aphrodisiac] to acquire him-or-her. Or go home and hope that some other decade will be less insane - - though Glikkonen said to me that, in all the times zie tried to do that, it only worked twice.

Belated Entry [11 Hivvem 4260]

Sorry for not writing these last few days. The dean broke my right forepaw.

That is probably worth more explanation. The dean in question is the somewhat elderly but still energetic Dean Celandine Carsnell, Dean of Students: a distinguished (but not too distinguished) old Herethroy woman. She was playing catch with three or four Cani students in the yard around Sprowlween Hall. Spirshash and I were reading about collections of small carved birds in the yard. Someone threw the block to the dean, and she missed, and it nearly clonked Spirshash in the head. He picked it up and threw it to her. I sort of half-hid under a flowering bush to get out of the way. A few minutes later, the dean, chasing the block into the bushes, stepped with all her weight on my right hand. I'm a small lizard, and she's a big Herethroy!

Apologies came loud and fast! It might have been better if I hadn't screamed fire and set her kilt ablaze. Still, the dean was soon extinguished with poor wine, courtesy of Spirshash. I still owe him a bottle of poor wine.

Healing my hand is not so easy. Fix the Fractured Fingers isn't all that hard to find at an academy. But the person who casts it will be a senior student in Corpador, not a trained and qualified healer. So he didn't do a very good job of it...

Which, of course, meant that I had my forepaw wrapped in wood for the better part of a week. [Sythyry indiscriminately uses both the word for "hand" that most bipeds would use, and the word "paw"/"forepaw" that a Sleeth would use. Most Ketherian dictionaries do not approve of the latter usage for Zi Ri. - your faithful translator]

And, when I say, "better part", I don't mean "longer part". It was only four days, less than half a week. But my Deepening of Understanding class had the formal requirement of writing two essays, one explaining why the Duke of Vheshrame is a wicked man, and another explaining why his wickedness is utterly justifiable. For some reason, I had expected to write these essays starting somewhat after sunout the day before they were due ... but there is no excuse for explaining why a paper was not written better than "Dean Carsnell broke my paw."

Well, that would work in most classes at least. In Deepening of Understanding, the response was, "She rarely injures students without a good reason," followed by a series of questions designed for me to explain and admit how foolish it is for a small person with light bones to be underfoot. After that they let me say the essays, rather than writing them. I shouted them from the rafters though -- no Small Blue Pain Lizard underfoot! They laughed, for smarmy intellectualism is the true essence of Deepening of Understanding.

And, for unaccountable reasons, Iska showed up with a pot of very small meatballs for me, such as I could eat one-handed. This is all very awkward -- she still doesn't know that I wouldn't let her live here, and I still think she's awfully foreign and lower-class. Thery and Iska are getting fairly friendly -- Thery complained about Havune to her for an hour, while they ate most of the meatballs.

Speaking of eating, somebody asked me what eating utensils are used in Vheshrame, and how I manage them. [Bard is unaware of this question. -bb] The second question is easy enough: I have several sets of utensils made for Zi Ri. I generally carry a knife, a skewer, a spoon, and a scoop around in my saddlebag, in case I need to eat politely. Well, every scholar carries a knife for sharpening pens; I use the same knife.

• The Skewer: A stick of ivory with a sharp point, used for spearing small food items and bringing them to the mouth, or for holding large ones steady while they are cut with the knife. I often don't bother with using a skewer except in formal circumstances or very messy foods, since I have long sharp claws and heat doesn't trouble me.
• The Spoon: A stick of ivory (or wood, but ivory's better because it doesn't pick up tastes so fast) with a little cup on one end, used for picking up small quantities of soup or other liquid; it is either poured into the mouth, or held close to the face and lapped. My forked tongue is not very good for lapping, so I use the former method. Everybody else mostly laps. (Except Khtsoyis -- I've never seen a Khtsoyis eat. Probably just as well. And Herethroy can put the whole bowl of the spoon in the mouth, if desired, though that's considered rude -- when Dustweed does that when we're eating together, I make sure to use my claws instead of the skewer.) Oh, it is also used for dripping sauces onto things, and stirring, and so on. In a pinch you can use the back end of the spoon as a skewer. If I only bring one utensil besides my knife, it will be a spoon.
• The Knife: A flat piece of meng [a hard vegetable], edged with spell-hardened glass if you are moderately rich or even metal if you are immoderately rich, used to cut things. I have a small one, edged with copper.
• The Scoop: A square of leather, in which saucy or larger foods are scooped up and held to the side of the mouth for biting by the carnassials of those who have them (Cani, Zi Ri, Sleeth except Sleeth have no hands), or the front for biting by the incisors of those who do not (everyone else). Good manners dictate having one scoop per person per scoopworthy dish (if there are three stews, each person has three scoops), and, if the dishes are served commonly, not licking the scoop until one has ceased to eat from the common bowl. This is why individual service is destined to Rule The World Tree.
• The Cooler: A small but thick ceramic bowl or tray, in which extremely hot foods are placed until they are cool enough to eat. Sometimes you also mix dipping sauces in it. I don't know if this is officially a utensil, but if you're going to a meal where you should bring your own utensils, you should bring your own cooler. (In Mrasteia, people use a Heater as well, looking just like the cooler but kept hot by Pyrador or a charcoal brazier. In Choinxeia -- and Aradrueia for that matter -- cooks serve food at the proper temperature, in respectable places at least. In any case, I wouldn't use one, I'd just breathe on the food.)
• The Chalice: A shallow bowl on a stem with a wide foot, usually made of wood. Used for beverages or thin soups. Most people pick them up by the stem and lap out of them. Herethroy in a hurry will put the edge of the chalice to their lower lip and sort of pour the beverage into their mouth, but that's rude (I suppose because nobody else can do it very well). If you are a small person with a long flexible neck and a forked tongue, it is easier to leave it on the table and poke your muzzle into it and drink that way. Technically this should be rude too, like Herethroy drinking, but if you've ever seen a lizard tongue lapping you'll know that's ruder. Again, I don't know that this is strictly a utensil.

Pounced! [12 Hivvem 4260]

Pazi-Pazi is stalking me again. She has learned, I believe, to note when I have sipped brandy, and am thus at my clumsiest and most vulnerable. This is an important skill of cats in the wild, who frequently order tiny chalices of brandy, anonymously, for mice, and eat them afterwards. [This is absolutely not true, though Sythyry certainly has been at the brandy. -bb]

Dustweed washed zir clothes, and hung two tunics from the beams over the fireplace. Pazi-Pazi lurked behind one of them, perched on the mantelpiece, and leaped out to knock me to the ground when I flew (not a bit wobbly!) to bed. As a natural consequence of this, Dustweed's white tunic has a beautiful, elegant, stylish Zi Ri breath-burn across most of the left back side. Furthermore, by some injustice, it is I, not Pazi-Pazi, who must pay to buy Dustweed another tunic.

Sneaky Veffu, the mouse who caused us to let Pazi-Pazi into our hearts and mantelpieces, has only been spotted three or four times. Specifically, Havune has taken to snuffling around in the back of the pantry, and once in a while catches a mousical whiff. I believe that our Evil Neighbors are breeding them, training them, and sending them over to devour our dried beans and pickled peppered caterpillars. We have not yet learned which neighbors are the Evil Neighbors. However, they are not expert at evil, for they have not provided any of the Sneaky Veffus with tiny pry bars with which to open glass bottles of pickled peppered caterpillars.

Public Displays of Levitation [12 Nivvem 4260]

Three blocks from here, and not far from Flooosh's bakery, a new Yistreian restaurant named "Tamvaus" has opened. Ghirbis Vlaan, one of my Evil Neighbors, is from Yistreia. She invited Thery and me to try it out with her -- perhaps as evidence that Yistreain cuisine does not consist entirely of mice. (She incidentally asserts that neither she nor the other Evil Roommates are breeding mice in their apartment, nor are they sending Sneaky Veffu over to our place to scout us, devour our precious beans, and soften us up for conquest. A likely story!)

For those of you who do not know, Yistreian food is, indeed, based primarily on mice. The very first appetizer on the menu was red mice marinated in port and pepper, and grilled on a skewer. Ghirbis was properly embarrassed. Thery, disloyally, pointed out that mice did not appear anywhere else on the menu. A likely story! I am sure that Tamvaus will start slipping mice into every dish, once they have the Secret Evil Teleport Gate to Yistreia properly set up in their pantry.

Although, Yistreian food is fearsome enough without the mice. Many dishes involve arhoolie leaves, which are pungent and spicy and fill the mouth with a spiky blue-orange pain. Ghirbis asserts that one is not supposed to eat a whole arhoolie leaf at once, especially if one has a very small mouth, but she did not see fit to warn me before I took that bite. Thery, disloyally, says that anyone who breathes fire should be able to eat arhoolie leaves comfortably. She is wrong.

Nonetheless, the dish of triangular noodles in cream sauce with liver, bacon, and chiffonade of arhoolie, was actually pretty good. Just don't eat the whole arhoolie leaf garnish.

But the unfortunate thing about Tamvaus, if not about Yistreia as a whole, is that, where a reasonable restaurant would have chairs at the table, Tamvaus has short stools upholstered in complicated red-and-blue brocades. This is a serious problem, and, I am sure, another part in the Plan of Yistreian Conquest. It means that I cannot have the waiter turn the chair around so that I can perch on the back of it and reach the table. Since the tables were small and the plates were large, there was barely room for all the food, and certainly not for the Zi Ri. So I had to levitate while I was eating, which is always awkward and pretentious.

Dustweed was invited, but zie did not come with us. Zie had a dinner date with Tethezai. Things are definitely improving there, in the sense that being executed three times and then imprisoned for life is an improvement over being executed three times and then buried alive. [Resurrection of the recently-slain is fairly easy on the World Tree, and corporal punishment is common; repeated execution is a standard penalty for many serious crimes. -bb] Dustweed was not in zir tears after the date, which I find quite remarkable. Zie did corner me for a long conversation about the practicalities of transaffection, though. Zie doesn't seem to actually be interested in Tethezai as a lover, but zie seems fairly convinced that zie will never get an offer from another Herethroy, much less two other Herethroy, so zie is considering taking Tethezai up on her not-quite-stated interest. Zie is, reasonably enough, worried about what kind of trouble zie will be in if zie is openly transaffectionate on top of whatever sort of curse or bad reputation zie already has. It is not clear to me that zie can make zir situation much worse than it already is. Zie did not appreciate that point of view, but zie did not argue too much.

(Note to self: when talking to Dustweed, do not say that the other Zi Ri in Vheshrame are less pleased with me than the other Herethroy are with zir. It is not true. Hezimmikainen did, certainly, make me live on my own. But the other Herethroy occasionally are moved to actual violence against Dustweed. I wonder what zie did...)

The Spontaneous Unplanned Annual Library Riot [13 Hivvem 4260]

It would be traditional, I suppose, to rant long and loudly about the wickedness of librarians. Each year on this day, there is a traditional spontaneous unplanned annual riot in front of the Vheshrame Ducal Library, in which students burn books and destroy paintings. Well, after the first traditional spontaneous unplanned annual riot some thirty years ago, the books have been made of waste papers sewed together the night before.

Mine was notes for papers of last term, plus a few old broadsheets which I found in a large stack in the corner of the kitchen, which some Herethroy has neglected to throw out, ever, since zie moved in, despite the chore list. I titled it, "Dialogs on the Posterior Atmosphere" [A play on "Dialogs on the Interior Atmosphere", a classic work of World Tree philosophy. -bb].

I do wonder what will happen if the library fee is ever revoked, as the students have been demanding these last three decades. A third of a lozen [approx three US$ -bb] a few times a week to go and read isn't that terrible for me (Hezimmikainen is no longer so annoyed with me that zie won't give me pocket money), but some significant fraction of the studentry are fifth children, or scions of impoverished nobility who have mortgaged their ancestral holdings for the tuition, or farmers's daughters or tailors' sons sent here on a scholarship by some lord or other who pays the large bills but neglects the small ones.

In any case, it was a fairly fun traditional spontaneous unplanned annual riot. There were spontaneous, unplanned, incendiary speeches by many students, many of them with extensive footnotes and spontaneous, unplanned, incendiary three-page handouts.

The administration, as personified by Dean Carsnell, presented their rebuttal. The basic logic of the rebuttal was "No, we shall not remove the fee; we shall crush any sign of protest beneath our iron boots, like a Zi Ri's forepaw." If I had antennae or external ears they would be permanently flat! Still, I was paraded around as a symbol or mascot of student resistance, on a few Orren shoulders, and even asked to set some books alight for the subsidiary bonfires.

(The main bonfire, as is traditional at spontaneous unplanned annual library fee riots, was ignited accidentally when someone accidentally shoved an uninvolved student who happened to be walking through the riot area without noticing it, who tripped and fell upon one end of a board, which was balanced on another board, which flipped some other student's pen knife out of its sheath, which went flying into the air, severing a rope which held a torch on the side of Gimbestical Hall, which landed on an open bottle of lamp oil just as, elsewhere, three enraged students threw three textbooks (evidently about last month's news) at three professors who nimbly dodged them so the textbooks landed on the oil just about when the torch did.)

Some senior students happened, by some surprising coincidence, to have a gigantic sugar-cake model of the library on a huge plank. Flooosh was smirking --- Flooosh happened to show up, despite she's not a student and works some distance away from the library.

When I got back home, Dustweed had tied a handkerchief to our bedroom's doorknob. Later that evening, when the handkerchief came off, Tethezai was smelled leaving the building. (By Havune -- Tethezai isn't so pungent that the non-Cani can smell her! Unless Dustweed's gotten a detailed sniff.) Dustweed absolutely refused to discuss the incident, though.

Other People's Drama [14 Hivvem 4260]

Spirshash showed up here far, far after midnight, with sparks, or at least metaphors, shooting out of his ears. He had a fight with Tillissa, which ended up with him throwing a bowl of salmon in cumin paste at her.

The story is very confusing. They seem to be fighting for a great many reasons, which do not actually make much sense to me. This is Spirshash's side of things. I daresay Tillissa is not such a fiend as he portrays.

• Last month, Tillissa painted some very unpleasant artistic howling Rassimel heads on their living room wall. She agreed to paint them over, but she never did. (I've seen them -- they're hideous!)
• Spirshash likes cumin. A lot. Tillissa does not like cumin very much. One recent week when Tillissa was spending lots of time studying, Spirshash did a lot of the cooking, and mostly made cuminated fishes, which Tillissa is not fond of. She didn't tell him she hated it 'til the end of the week. This discussion, at the end, resulted in him tossing the dinner at her and storming out of the apartment.
• Spirshash banged his knee hard in a pond. Tillissa keeps slapping him on it with her tail. (She does slap people a lot with her tail generally.)
• Tillissa borrowed his formal kilt without asking him. It came back spotted with quendry wine. She refused to clean it, saying that it was spotted when she got it. Spirshash says she's lying.
• Tillissa and Spirshash were in one or another of the drama clubs. Tillissa got the Orren lead. Spirshash is taking three roles (one of them Cani), with a total of eight lines between them. Tillissa evidently mocks Spirshash considerably for this.

None of this sounds particularly serious to me, except for the flying salmon. Spirshash seems quite upset with it, though. I fed him brandy, and some of Havune's leftovers since his dinner had become a weapon, and tucked him in on the couch when he went to sleep.

In other other peoples' drama: Tethezai has (1) painted Dustweed a quite glorious green, with many spiraling vines climbing up zir spikes and down zir limbs; (2) convinced Dustweed to wear a very short kilt and not much else, and walk around the art building; and (3) claimed a rather incendiary kiss from zir -- their first one -- in front of her art professor's office. With the professor watching. And four or five other people. Dustweed was crying again, but this time because zie's afraid people will think that zie's transaffectionate, which isn't very good for a Herethroy.

And for drama in my own life: I put too many big textbooks on top of too many small textbooks. There was a bookslide. My best ribbons got crushed. I shall have to have them pressed before I wear them. I consider this an acceptable level of drama for me.

Fear Every Orren Baker! [15 Hivvem 4260]

Tomorrow is Thery's birthday. Yarwain and I are the chief conspirators. (Ordinarily Havune would, since he's the Cani, but he and Thery are still not on the best of terms.) Yarwain is doing most of the arrangements. But -- foolishly! -- I said, "I'll get the cake, for Flooosh is my friend." (Flooosh, of course, is an Orren who runs the bakery nearby. Her actual name is Floosh, but we howl or moan it to tease her.)

So, quite foolishly, I flew to Flooosh's shop in midmorning, bought two poptaloops, sat in the open oven to eat them, and said, "Flooosh! It is Thery's birthday tomorrow. Make me a cake suitable for a Rassimel for her and a dozen other assorted primes!"

Flooosh is dangerous and devastating. She simply said, "Sure thing, Sythyry."

I just went to pick up the cake. It is a very reasonable cake, with dried fruit and all, and a tub of syrup to pour over it ... and the words "Happy Birthday Teltheryan" on it ... except that the words are curled around and over a distinctly gormless and extravagant blue sugar Zi Ri.

I asked her, "Flooooooosh? Didn't I order a birthday cake for Thery?"

And Flooosh answered, "Yes, indeed you did, Sythyry. That is the reason that I wrote 'Happy Birthday Teltheryan' on it."

So I asked, "Floooosh? Why am I on the birthday cake for Thery?"

And Floooosh answered, "Because I helpfully and conveniently did exactly what you ordered, Sythyry."

So I asked, "Floooosh? If I were putting someone on a birthday cake for Thery, wouldn't it be better to be Thery herself, or perhaps her boyfriend?"

And Flooosh answered, "I did wonder the same thing myself while I was making it, but you distinctly asked me for you on the cake, Sythyry. So I presume it was some sorcerous peculiarity or Zi Ri strangeness."

So I asked, "Floooosh? Exactly what and how did I ask you to make a cake with a blue Zi Ri on it?"

And Floooosh answered, "You said, 'Make me a cake.'"

I think it's about time for me to swear off of Orren for life again.

(P.S. the next day: at the actual party, just after I rather embarrassedly showed off the Zi Ri cake and had to explain it and get many teasings from many people, Flooosh showed up with a more respectable birthday cake, with a sugar image of Thery smooching the goddess Mircannis. Thery and Yarwain were smirking intensely, and I saw the glint of amber. I believe there was more plotting involved than just me and Yarwain.)

(OOC: Vicki who sorta plays Floosh, just made me a small pile of nifty Sythyry pins for use at Jersey Devil Con or other events. Stop by and get one! Suprise limited! Void where prohibited!)

(OOC P.S.: The phrase "Void where prohibited" always seems to be to be a command to use the opposite sex's restroom. Obey me at your own risk!)

Unfair! [16 Hivvem 4260]

It is entirely unfair (to me) that Dustweed should collect a lover before I do. Dustweed has lurked alone in apartment and library. I have been to many social engagements, and Flirtatious Dancing. Dustweed is quiet, withdrawn, sullen, and morose; I am active, friendly, pleasant, and cheerful. Dustweed is, by all accounts, unattractive even to zir own species; I am ... well, I can be honest in my journal. I've never met a Zi Ri who wasn't a relative. But everyone says I'm fairly appealing. Dustweed isn't even looking for a lover. Tethezai simply showed up and collected zir.

It is entirely unfair (to Dustweed) that, having collected a lover, zie remains quiet, withdrawn, sullen, and morose. Sobbing, even. Not because of anything Tethezai did. The brief summary I heard suggested that Tethezai is skillful (which everyone suspected, as Tethezai is reputed to have left many footprints of satisfied lovers of all species but her own and mine) -- and also that Tethezai is kind (which I, for one, did not expect).

It is even more unfair (to me) that Dustweed should choose me as the one to cry on from this event. The exact story behind the tears was not clear at the time, but this is what zie said, roughly in order.

1. Zie does like Tethezai. A lot.
2. Zie doesn't love Tethezai. Indeed, zie doesn't think that zie can love a non-Herethroy.
3. Nonetheless, zie is having a relationship with Tethezai from ears to knees. (Zir phrasing, not mine. Zie didn't explain what zie has against Tethezai's toes. I am not clear on which portions of Tethezai's tail it includes, either. Nonetheless, certain crucial regions definitively fall between ears and knees, so I don't think we can have too much doubt there.)
4. Zie is ashamed of indulging bodily with Tethezai despite not actually loving her.
5. Zie felt some terrible combination of flattered and shoved into bed. Zie doesn't think that any Herethroy would ever be interested ("except a horrid one," whatever that may mean).
6. In consequence, zie considers zirself foolish and weak-willed.
7. Zie can't hope for any sort of enduring relationship with Tethezai, who is a libertine and will surely change interests by the middle of next term, if not sooner.
8. Zie doesn't want an enduring relationship with Tethezai, due to the unbearable social difficulty of Herethroy-nonHerethroy matches.
9. Having finally tasted physical affection, zie does not want to be without it for the rest of her zir life.
10. Other Herethroy all hate zir, unfair as that may be.
11. And, at this point, zie must flatten zir antennae to zir scalp and abruptly excuse zirself to go cry on Thery instead.

I presume I somehow offended zir. I know that zie somehow offended me. Perhaps I was a touch flippant with a response or two (e.g., recommending that zie enjoy the affection for what it is worth). But I was really trying to be as kind and helpful as I could! In any case i have nothing to do with all Herethroy hating her!

It is grossly, hideously unfair to importune upon a roommate with weeping, and then to flee before one can be properly comforted. Next time I shall ... shall ... I shall sit upon zir shoulder, coil my tail around zir neck, and refuse to be dislodged by any moral or social arguments.

Oh, and it's also rather unfair that all nobles are given a three-day extension on their Famous Collections report -- officially because many of them are required to spend a half-day in attendance at the Ducal palace the day the report is due, and the professor does not want to convene a makeup session of the class. However, the way that it was phrased, everyone who can legitimately use a title gets the extension, not just the people whose presence is commanded to the palace. (Some soap-merchant's son who is a margrave in Morthavon (on Aradrueia) asked about that -- it's not even a real title; they barely have proper lesser nobility there, just rich people who can buy fancy words for themselves.) I will not complain about this particular bit of unfairness: if a soap-merchant margrave qualifies for it, then Hezimikkainen's sibling surely does as well.

Both-Female [17 Hivvem 4260]

The four of us, plus Yarwain, were eating dinner together tonight. I had the ill consideration to say of Dustweed, "The only way zie could be less popular with Herethroy is if zie was a both-female." This elicited quite an intense reaction: a careful and clearly intentional changing of the topic from everyone at the table.

"A digression upon Herethroy both-females for those who claim to know nothing about them."

A surprising and little-known fact: Zi Ri are not the only hermaphrodites among the primes. We are not even the most common hermaphrodites among the primes. I knew this in theory, of course. I never expected to pay it any attention in practice.

For those of you who pretend to be monsters, remember that six of the eight prime species have two sexes (male and female, though I don't imagine 'male' for a Khtsoyis is the same as 'male' for a Cani). Zi Ri are all hermaphrodites. (For those imagining exotic tangled geometries of organs and appendages, go look at an anatomy book and observe the elegant reality.) And Herethroy have three or possibly four sexes: male (20%), female (50%), and co-lover (30%).

And the "possibly four" is the Herethroy hermaphrodite: the both-female, who may operate as either a female or as a co-lover. There are very few both-females; perhaps one birth in a thousand, or in ten thousand. There are still more both-females than Zi Ri, simply because there are so many Herethroy.

Now, females are the strong common ones in Herethroy society, the workers and generally the ones in charge. [Humans can consider them "masculine". -bb] Co-lovers are the gentle maternal ones, also the beautiful attractive ones. [Humans can consider them "feminine". -bb] (Males, of course, are in the middle, but that's neither here nor there.) This leaves both-females in rather an awkward position, just in principle.

That's in principle. In practice, it's worse.

Herethroy don't like both-females, not at all. They generally make them act as females. It is an ordinary thing for a female Herethroy to never get married, and simply be relegated to a life of fieldwork and occasional snatched adultery (though both-females would only get the fieldwork) -- I think that as many as one woman in five winds up that way. (Males marry twice, co-lovers once or twice, females once or not at all. Official village marriages are all heterosexual and capable of breeding, around here at least.)

I think they were created for the irony of it. They can do right by any Herethroy ... but no Herethroy wants them. This is not official Virid theology of course.

(As an aside: the both-females who are not made to act as females are generally killed at birth.)

Back to the story

I asked Dustweed about it later, when we were both in bed. (To be specific: zie was in zir bed, and I was draped artistically over a smoldering log in the fireplace. I do not want it thought that I share a bed with Dustweed.) I suppose that one rarely asks such a question unless one knows the answer. In any case, zie is one.

I am very nearly the last person in Vheshrame to learn about it. Every Herethroy knows, of course -- perhaps they can tell by some subtle signs that Dustweed cannot or will not conceal, or perhaps zie is simply notorious. Havune and every Cani can tell instantly, by zir scent. I don't know how Thery and Yarwain found out; perhaps one of them was here two years ago when it became a matter of public scandal.

Dustweed didn't want to tell me. I think zie is just a touch jealous: we are both hermaphrodites, but oh! how very, very different! Also, zie somehow got the impression that I am fussy about certain niceties. When I refused at the last moment to accept Iska into the apartment, Dustweed realized that zie might do best not to bring zir deformity to mention.

And I am afraid that zie was right.

I imagine I should be more pleased if Dustweed were simply a both-female who knew zir place and acted female and stays aside. But Dustweed is not that both-female. Dustweed has decided that zie is better suited to the co-lover's lot in life -- and indeed, zie looks much more the co-lover than the female -- and chooses to dress and comport zirself as one. Zie is the firstborn child of a Great Baron, from a region with a long and unshakeable tradition of primogeniture, and so zie has rank and wealth enough to protect zirself and do what zie wishes, society be damned. And zie is cursed with a strong degree of personal pride and self-determination.

So, wherever Dustweed goes, scandal goes as well. Scandal in the subtle bitter Herethroy style, which a rather more energetic Zi Ri might well miss.

Dustweed's side of the story.

That is why Dustweed's parents gave zir such an unappealing name.

That is why Dustweed is so unpopular among Herethroy. Zie is a both-female, and hence, perforce, unpopular. Zie is not willing to do what proper both-females are supposed to do, and hence squaredly unpopular. And zie is, at some point, going to rule several villages -- and what could possibly be worse than being ruled by a both-female? -- and hence cubedly unpopular.

That is why Dustweed will never be able to marry. Zie can hardly marry much beneath zir class. Yet, who of zir class or anywhere close to it would marry a both-female?

That is why Dustweed is so distressed about Tethezai. Tethezai enjoys zir because zie is both-female. Not to put too fine a point on it, Tethezai is a libertine -- and a libertine's libertine. Dustweed would prefer to be loved as a co-lover, or, perhaps, simply as a person. One may consider this overly fussy, as zie is unlikely to be loved for much at all, but one should certainly appreciate the desire. Tethezai's first interest in Dustweed is more that of a Rassimel collector to an exotic specimen.

That is why other Herethroy occasionally assault Dustweed. Zie is a rebel against the true and proper order of Herethroy society.

My side of the story

I am rather distressed by this. I had of course wanted to have some nice straightforward lesser nobility for apartment mates. (You remember Iska, whom I refused rather rudely for being too foreign and common.) Now it turns out that my roommate -- not simply my apartment mate, but my very roommate -- is a rebel and tradition-breaker of the most insidious sort short of actually doorwaying or some actual crime.

I gather that my half-sister long ago decided that I chose Dustweed as roommate intentionally, with full knowledge (for it was a matter of some public note, two years before I came to Vheshrame), as a specific act of rebellion and defiance. I doubt that I will ever persuade zir otherwise.

What does one do in a situation such as this?

I fear that I temporized: I made my apologies for my comment that Dustweed may have found ungracious, and even listened sympathetically to such of zir life's story as zie saw fit to tell me in the dark, much after every bedtime. I imagine that I should have done something rather different and dramatic -- storming from the apartment in a flutter of wings and raspy tail, breathing flames into the midnight air. I thought about that for some while, but the thought of getting out of a nice warm bed simply as a matter of etiquette seemed too much work. By now the moment has passed... and in any case clearing my name of association with Dustweed's will probably take years.

Disclaimer

[OOC comment: no, this isn't you. No, it's not you either. It's not even me. This is just the story that was tickling around in the back of my head when that confusing line from the World Tree book "Herethroy have three (or arguably four) genders" trickled out of my fingertips many years ago, and I had to make sense of it somehow. --bb]

[Other OOC comment: Bard does not agree with Sythyry's rather prejudiced, racist and classist views. --bb]

Dustweed didn't meet my eyes this morning. Perhaps zie expects me to blast zir with some horrible spell or instrument of my grandfather's. (In point of fact, I thought about it, but only briefly and in the sort of way one considers suicide, or reading the mind of the Orren you hope to sleep with, or some other horrid act.) Zie hurried out of the apartment without eating, without talking. If I ever decide to apologize, it had best include the price of breakfast.

Havune was not so careful. Havune knew that I was upset -- there is no hiding any such thing from a Cani -- but he did not suspect why. The conversation went roughly as follows:

Sythyry:Why didn't you tell me?

Havune:[Blinking sleepily] Because it's not my business?

Sythyry:That's foolish and inconsiderate.

Havune:Or, perhaps, because you have not paid me the traditional go-between's fee? Or even let me finish making my morning kathia?

Sythyry:What are you talking about?

Havune:Spirshash's latest escapade, or course.

Sythyry:Don't be ridiculous.

Havune:[Peering closely at me.]What are you talking about?

Sythyry:Dustweed.

Havune:Oh, Dustweed. Dustweed's getting quite seriously involved with Tethezai. Be glad: you might get a room without an actual roommate sleeping in it now and then.

Sythyry:[breathing fire in Havune's general direction, though not getting close to him] No, about Dustweed being both-female.

Havune:[menacing me with a pot of water]Stop that. What more do you need to know about it?

Sythyry:Why didn't you tell me a long time ago?

Havune:You didn't know?

Sythyry:No.

Havune:How odd. Sythyry, you are a marvel and a gleaming paladin of cluelessness.

At which point I flew out of the apartment, also without breakfast. I consulted with Laryn Moorbent, who holds affan in matters of decorum in the ducal palace -- or, rather, I sent Moorbent a brief note and got a rather flatulent answer [See letters after last journal entry.]

Much later, after I slept through two classes, Tethezai cornered me in the buttery. She very politely and gently urged me to at least be civil to Dustweed, even if actual friendliness evades me. Official manners recommends that she threaten me at this point, typically with social difficulties -- Tethezai's family is sufficently influential to cause me various minor troubles, should they wish to -- but she quite oddly didn't.

The threat actually very suitable, and almost incidental. If I make Dustweed too miserable, zie will have to move out; Tethezai will, in need, provide zir a place to live. This leaves me paying more rent than I can afford, or grovelling at my ~sister~, or some other such unpleasantness. I can't imagine Havune or Thery being terribly helpful on the rent, if I have driven Dustweed out.

And the really odd thing, all day was that there was no really odd thing all day. Everyone else in Vheshrame knows about Dustweed; it is last years' news. Nobody but Herethroy cares any more, and even for them it is down to the point of habit rather than active concern.

I am entirely at a loss.

Something Dreadful [18 Hivvem 4260]

I did something dreadful today.

I was running around all day about this matter of Dustweed. (I am temporarily obsessed with it. Anyone who says that Orren manners have rubbed off on me is probably right.) I consulted with the priests. Well, one priest and two graduate students in Applied Theology.

The priest and one grad student say that Virid never intended there to be both-females, that it was a divine oversight. Not as serious as the mistake that created the Khtsoyis (which was Accanax absolutely screwing up). She decided to share certain anatomical features between female and co-lover, which opened the possibility of, in a few cases, some other anatomical features getting shared by mistake: hence both-females. The (Herethroy) priest said that in all likelihood the mistake was harmless but that it probably a good idea to kill both-females at birth just in case, and certainly never wise to put them in positions of authority. The (Rassimel) student said that both-females were no more suitable in polite society than Khtsoyis, and that hence the usual Herethroy treatment of them was as good as anything else.

The other grad student (also Rassimel) denied the possibility that Virid made a mistake on anything as important to her as the Herethroy. She hinted at evidence that Virid had, in fact, created the Herethroy some long time before, and was well used to their structure and possible birth defects. (The main piece of evidence was their wide range of variation -- but the same goes for Zi Ri, and I've never heard anyone suggest that we were made before the World Tree. But our creator god is more creative than Virid. Very confusing. This is why I am not a theology student.) She went on to present evidence that (1) Virid didn't care one way or the other about any Herethroy's sex and neither should we, and (2) Virid specifically intends that Herethroy despise both-females.

At times, theology is not very helpful.

I also checked on some laws. In Vheshrame, there is a legal category of Proper Citizen, which includes all Herethroy. (Also all Cani, Rassimel, and Zi Ri; and all Orren who have broken fewer than eight contracts; and all Gormoror who have neither broken their Word of Honor nor killed anyone other than Gormoror or Khtsoyis. Sleeth and Khtsoyis can petition the Duke to be considered Proper Citizens. Theology was bad enough, but law is considerably worse.) In any case, ordinary laws about inheritance, lynching, trials, and all those things apply to all Proper Citizens. So in Vheshrame, which is what matters, Dustweed's title is assured, and the Herethroy who live in zir villages have the right to run zir out of town if zie actually tries to rule them, but not to refuse to pay the rents they owe zir. And any Herethroy who kills zir will be guilty of murder, if anyone bothers to bring them to trial. I am not sure if zie can count on zir parents to do that. Tethezai might, I suppose.

I also checked with the masters of etiquette and nobles' affairs. The general result was that both-female nobles should be treated like any other nobles with an incorrigible tendency towards wicked and criminal activity but whose deeds were not suitable for legal action: zie should be shunned whenever possible, and given zir perquisites whenever necessary.

When I got home, though, Dustweed apologized to me for not warning me what I was getting into when I moved in. It was not even a matter of shame, not 'til later. Zie was desparate; zie needed roommates in a hurry. Zie had two apartment mates agreeing to move in, but one got married by surprise and the other never came back to the academy.

So I said, "Think nothing of it."

I evidently was thinking nothing of it myself. I was so tired from a full day of research on what to do that I didn't remember who I was doing that research about, or what I had come up with.

The next time I am so very much a fool, I do hope it's over some appealing Orren or other. And I hope I get more than a spread-antennaed smile out of it. Though Dustweed is not known to smile all that often.

And never, ever think that I had intended to accept an apology this lightly. Really.

So now I am in considerable trouble. I can hardly continue to take offense at the deception, having already accept an apology for it. And, absent a personal offense, I can hardly storm out in anger, quickly or slowly, or take revenge when nothing suitable remains to taking revenge for.

So I suppose I am now restricted to "shunning wherever possible, and giving zir zir perquisites wherever necessary". Though exactly what that may mean when we're sharing a room for another few months is not something I am in a hurry to ask the masters of etiquette and nobles' affairs, much less the theology graduate students.

Havune's reaction to this: "Ah. Very convenient for you, Sythyry." I must re-emphasize that it was a simple mistake, caused by inappropriate haste of speaking, and not what I would have done had I spent a further twenty-seventh part of a second thinking about my words.

Havune didn't believe that when I said it either. My next free Enchantment project shall be a talisman that hides my scent, so I get at least a little privacy from Cani not-quite-mind-magic, or mind not-quite-magic, or whatever it is best called.

Squirming Back Towards Normal [19 Hivvem 4260]

Today I found an envelope stuffed under our door, marked, "to Sythyry, who has begun to understand." It contained a large-page tract explaining the theological and traditional justification for the execution of both-females at any time it is convenient. The arguments within held up against my reason and my historical understanding, though the tract itself did not hold up against my breath weapon.

[Large-page: printers in Vheshrame generally get sheets of paper big enough for sixteen or more ordinary pages, print the entire sheet, and cut them up. Sometimes the whole sheet is used without being cut, as in this case.]

The rest of the day proceeded much more pleasantly. Prof. Yrrkyrr brought in selections from the former Duke's collection of animated curios. One most excellent talisman, in the form of an ivory Cani warrior on a charger only slightly bigger than me, was not only animate and not only sentient, but sensible as well. When Nestrune criticized its clothing as being thoroughly out of date, it drew a tiny ivory toothpick of a sword and assaulted his boots using it as a pointer -- "Upon your left boot there is a wine-stain there *THWACK*! And an application of mismatching boot-paint there *THWACK*! And a spotted miscoloration upon the toe, that can only be the result of your misdirected micturation, there *THWACK*!' Not only sensible, but it exhibits good taste in choice of victim!

Prof. Yrrkyrr seems to be in some sort of trouble, though. Strenata complained about the noble's extension. Yrrkyrr told her that his actions were in accordance with Academy policy: favorable treatment given to one person must be given to everyone of equal or higher rank. "If you had truly wanted an extension, you should have chosen to be born a noble," he said.

"You could have given everyone an extension," she said. "You still could."

"It appears that I should not," he said. After class the Cani were muttering about how angry he smelled. "If I had truly wanted to behave equitably, I should have been born far from Vheshrame." And that was the end of the matter.

I realize I haven't mentioned Strenata before. She is an Orren student, as tall as a Herethroy, and thoroughly sprinkled with lilac spots. I had met her before -- one of Spirshash's parties, perhaps? -- but this term she is taking both Famous Collections and Spelunking. After class, seven or eight of us complained to each other in unison outside the Green Tile Classroom, and she smiled most pleasantly to me, and I to her.

If she hasn't heard too much about my unfortunate choice of roommate, perhaps I shall have more to write about Strenata in suitable time.

Soup [20 Hivvem 4260]

For those of you who claim to be monsters and are perpetually denied the finer pleasures of Vheshrame ... don't feel bad. The Sloop In Soup is not one of the finer pleasures of Vheshrame. It is a home restaurant. One of the restauranteurs -- I think the Herethroy one, but it might be the Orren -- owns a tallish, narrowish building on the corner of Murzerpherzon and Vine, in the heart of the neighborhood of poor students and poor people in general. The Herethroy lives on the top floor apartment, with, as far as I can tell, a Cani who is more than simply a roommate, but less than nothing in the eyes of her clan anymore. The Orren lives on the next floor. The two floors under that are full of tables and waiters and students and whomevers and soup.

Lots of soup.

Lots of reasonably adequate soup.

Lots of reasonably adequate soup, mostly served "a la sloop", which is the restaurant's way of saying, "with a big thick oval slice of hosh toast covered in lots and lots of butter floating on it".

Which is to say, a fairly hungry and fairly penurious Orren can come here after a long swim, and call for a bowl of trout and lobster chowder a la sloop, and be quite well fed on cheap but very filling stuff for a third of a lozen. Or, of course, a fairly hungry Zi Ri can come here after a class, and call for a quarter-bowl of trout and lobster chowder raw -- no sloop -- and still not be able to finish it.

So here is the tally:

Claryelle was not particularly friendly to me, as she never has been. I noted with displeasure a few barbs tossed at me about the company I keep, as I vaguely remember from before. I don't think she's talking about Spirshash, though. Yarwain got a couple of those as well. I don't think I would have noticed particularly, last week. This does not please me greatly: my choice of roommate has made me disliked amongst a great fraction of my social class.

It doesn't seem to have done too badly for me among some of the lower classes, though. Strenata sat next to me and we chatted about: the habits of trout; the objects that seabirds bring to their nests to amuse their young; the theoretical possibilities of what flying trout would bring to their hypothetical nests to amuse their young; the theoretical possibility of making Claryelle fly to see what she would bring to her nest to amuse her young ... and that was the first third of an hour only. She is very, very Orren.

Oh, she is very very Orren, indeed. Her soup contained an adequate number of scallops, a respectable amount of turnips, a decent number of onions, and an almost vulgar amount of chard, but only a single leek. This offended Strenata's sensibilities! She then and there changed her name to Seeks-Leeks.

She seems to change her name at the drop of a hat, or at any rate at the drop of a leek. Her friends are quite used to it, and duly noted it without any particular alarm. Yarwain wrote "Seeks-Leeks" on a scrap of paper and stuck it in her hatband. (I asked later -- Strenata is her family name, which she is called whenever anyone is unsure of what her personal name may be, which is often.)

I have promised her a leek tart at Tulterillo's, which is beyond her usual budget.

Yarwain privately recommended that I bring her there sooner than later. She is unlikely to seek leeks for long.

(And when I got home, I discovered that Tethezai had painted Dustweed a rather impressive shiny orange. Later in the evening, a surreptitious and well-timed glance revealed that there were handmarks and whiskermarks in the paint, here and there; Tethezai had evidently not waited quite long enough for it to dry.)

The Seeker of Leeks [21 Nivvem 4260]

My Date With Seeks-Leeks Strenata

Tulterillo's makes a fine leek tart. It is not the leek custard tart that is traditional in much of the region, which is a piecrust filled with egg custard, diced smoked dried caterpillars, and shredded leeks. That would be traditional, and Tulterillo's is not about tradition. It is about innovation. Which is why I brought Seeks-Leeks there.

This leek tart is a thin pastry crust (flavored with smoked dried caterpillars), covered in a medium-sized hill of sauteed leeks, sprinkled with vicious cheese, and pressed under a heavy board before it gets broiled.

You can, if you are brave, cut a slice of it and turn it upside-down and wave it in the air, and it will almost entirely stay together. Fortunately, two little curls of leek will fly off and lodge in the neck-ruff of Judge Pelchergrey Mesidion-Porgue, who is dining upon potted flounder with her husband three tables over.

Fortunate? Yes, fortunate. This causes Seeks-Leeks to smirk and giggle and, after I tell her who she has beleeked, make puns about the legal system. [They don't translate, which is fortunate. -bb]

She is not the most serious or respectful Orren that I have ever met. Next time, I shall ask to ride home on her shoulder, and we shall see what we shall see.

Dustweed's Date With Tethezai

Tethezai took Dustweed home to meet her parents. Dustweed was, of course, terrified that they should interrogate zir, demand to know how dare zie sleep with their daughter, how dare zie sully their daughter's reputation by mingling it with zir own?

The reality was even more terrifying.

They treated Dustweed like a Great Baron. They spent the whole afternoon making court talk. I do not mean High Court Talk, about literature and art and hunting and flirting and all those amusement. I mean very serious court talk, about alliances and economics and duel-wars and hate-wars and succession disputes in foreign cities and League politics. Poor Dustweed might have been able to handle the former -- zie has been in classes for a while, after all -- but zie has been too concerned with zir own matters to pay much attention to the larger ones. (Aren't students supposed to be self-absorbed? I'm pretty sure they told us that in the Firstmost Lecture.) Dustweed was utterly lost.

It seems they are used to their daughter.

I do understand that Tethezai made it up to Dustweed later on, with an afternoon of student performances and a dinner of godlike salads. Dustweed was actually smiling a bit when zie told me about the matter.

Thery's Date with Yarwain

It seemed like a pretty ordinary Thery's Date With Yarwain to me. In any case, it wasn't in our apartment.

Havune's Date With Three Or Four Other Cani

Since Thery was out, there was considerable barking going on in Havune+Thery's bedroom until moderately late. Details were not forthcoming. Actually details were not asked for.

[From a LJ poll] What do you do when your roommate is out for the evening? (Or, what would you do, were you sharing a room with a member of a different species?)

• Invite three or four conspecifics ["members of the same species"] over for non-forthcoming-details.
• Go to bed early, alone.
• Drink too much vodka.
• Study history.
• Study ways to make explosions.
• Study erotica.
• Write polemics against your roommate.
• Sleep in the bed rather than the fireplace for once.
• Hire a spare temporary roommate to avert loneliness.
• Wear improper garments.
• Faint in surprise at the circumstance which you had thought to be preposterous.
• Celebrate by going out to dinner alone.
• Celebrate by going out to dinner alone, and then wonder why, because you can do that when your roommate is there just as easily.

The Troubles of Nobles [22 Hivvem 4260]

After Famous Collections, sitting around a table at Square Nollie's -- oh, very well, I was sitting on the table -- Yarwain complained to Iska, Seeks-Leeks Strenata, and me about his latest difficulty. Yarwain is the heir to a Great Barony in Ulmarn, consisting of the villages of Quistma and Chalarre, and the Ulstramme valley where the finest fig-trees on all Choinxeia grow.

I cannot understand that barony. Quistma and Chalarre are on one side of Ulmarn Mene, and the Ulstramme is on the other. Quistma is a very ordinary-sounding Herethroy village -- so what is it doing being ruled by a Rassimel family who, evidently, lives there? Chalarre is a bigger place, half Rassimel and half Cani, where books are printed and little curled copper wires are harvested from the flowers of creeping vines -- it would seem the natural place for Yarwain's family to live, don't you think? Or even in the Ulstramme, which has a dozen little villages, Herethroy and Rassimel, plus any number of Orren riverbum families? Yarwain's mother is quite a substantial noblewoman, in any case -- comparable to Tethezai's parents. Yarwain and Tethezai are certainly strong contenders for the highest-titled parents of our social circle.

Thery, of course, is not. She is certainly a gentlewoman. She certainly has a title of sorts, though it is some sort of hereditary courtesy esquireship that comes from having an ancestor who was a second child of a second child of a second child of someone very important. Her family has served Countess Gloun for four generations. Not any sort of degrading or low service, this: the oa Vinnesses have been the Glouns' secretaries, their secret-holders, their accountants, their seneschals, their vicars, the ones who manage the Gloun's greatest estate and holding at Vellieu.

So, the oa Vinnesses rely on the support and sponsorship of the Glouns, and the Glouns rely on the faithful and long-term service of the oa Vinnesses. Thery is attending Vheshrame Academy with Countess Gloun's sponsorship and payment. In exchange, Thery will serve the Countess or her heir for thirty years [20 Earth years -bb]. In practice, it is expected that she will serve for life, as her mother and her grandfather and her great-grandfather and her great-great-grandmother did before her, and that her children and grandchildren will do the same.

So the difficulty is obvious. The course of Yarwain's life is charted in tight circles from one end of Ulmarn Mene to the other. The course of Thery's life is charted to follow Countess Gloun in her peregrinations around Vheshrame Mene. These two charts are separated by a skyboat voyage of some days' time, even when ulgrane do not interfere.

This somewhat limits their future together.

Seeks-Leeks looked rather annoyed at the whole story. "Ridiculous nobility capers! If I were you, Yarwain, I'd get Gloun to pay for my education, then toss fish entrails at the countess and fart in her face and run off with you."

Iska said, "That is what you will do if you are Thery, do you mean not?" Iska is very literal, and her conversational Ketherian is still not very good.

Yarwain shrugged. "It is hard to cheat your family's patron."

The two argued for some time. Strenata seems rather willing to do any sort of unpleasantness to any sort of noble, present company excepted. Yarwain is a balanced and reasonable sort. Iska is just plain foreign and probably shouldn't have been there at all.

At one point in the conversation, Yarwain said that Strenata's approach was rather that of a brigand. Strenata said, "And that's why my name is Brigandina." I am beginning to understand matters; while they were arguing, I wrote "Brigandina" on a bit of napkin and stuck it in Brigandina-formerly-Seeks-Leeks' hatband. She gave me a smile better than Spirshash's kiss!

In the end no conclusion was reached.

In other news: at home, well after dinner, Tethezai and Dustweed returned. They had been out walking in the park -- where, I suspect, the word "walking" is to be understood in a very generous sense indeed [not this time. -- bb] -- and came upon a family of respectable Herethroy out to inspect the butterflies in the Spiral Garden. The respectable Herethroy did what is only fitting and proper for respectable Herethroy to do, viz. the co-lover took their youngish children aside, and the man and woman scowled at Dustweed and Tethezai and urged them to depart.

Dustweed, I hear, started to. Tethezai, I hear, did not let zir.

Instead Tethezai created the illusion of a large and ferocious Fire Kitten, and roared it at the Herethroy.

(Aside: Tethezai is a respectable Illusidor mage, so only a very careful observer indeed would be able to tell by inspection of her spell that her Fire Kitten wasn't a real elemental. But anyone who knows the first thing about the spell will realize that it couldn't have been -- Fire Kittens must be conjured from existing fires, not thin air, and if the existing fire is not old enough, the elemental's eyes will not be open. Nobody at that scene seems to have known this important and obvious point, though.)

This, of course, the Herethroy interpreted as an assault with a deadly weapon. A deadly and ill-controlled weapon, as Fire Kittens are not terribly obedient elementals.

City guard were summoned! Dustweed and Tethezai outranked them! The Captain of the City Guard was summoned! Dustweed and Tethezai did not outrank her! Explanations were made! Apologies were made! Tethezai bought bound Remedy for Pyrador spells for each of the Herethroy, as a concrete apology! Dustweed and Tethezai were finally free to come home! Both are shaken, rattled, upset, beturmoiled!

I offered to sleep on the kitchen stove tonight. (Do not mistake this for approval of Dustweed. Tethezai is sufficiently important to be worth giving a favor or two here or there.)

They declined, though, and I slept in my fireplace as usual. I have to admit I am curious, and glanced over at Dustweed and Tethezai in bed several times. Tethezai, being a good deal shorter than Dustweed, is curled up in Dustweed's arms. Tethezai is wearing Dustweed's brown sleeping-robe, which looks quite silly with two empty sleeves. Dustweed is just wrapped a bit in blankets, probably to cushion Tethezai from zir hard and somewhat spiky carapace.

And that will have to do for today.

Drawing Water [24 Hivvem 4260]

Tethezai wakes up like a bound lightning bolt spell. One instant, she is curled up in Dustweed's arms. The next, she is standing on top of Dustweed, flomping zir face with her tail, demanding that zie arise on the instant to enlighten and astound the overly staid city.

Well, not quite that fast. A ninth of an hour, though, while it was taking me a third of an hour to feel like getting off my nice warm log and into a bucket of water to get the ashes off my feathers.

Except, of course, there is no bucket of water waiting for me today. I had forgotten to fill it last night. Since it is early in the day and I sometimes need a good deal of cley, I couldn't go and get one. (For the monsters: a bucket of water weighs somewhat less than I do, but it's pretty much impossible for me to even levitate carrying one, and walking with one is out of the question. So I have to (a) levitate the bucket with a separate spell, spending a cley, or (b) coax someone full-sized into carrying it for me, which is rarely possible before everyone has had their kathia. I don't quite feel comfortable asking Tethezai to do it.)

(Note to myself: When we get to doing enchantment projects, making a water talisman would be entirely sensible. Water-carrying or water-making, though?)

So I went outside to the public fountain for a bath. The usual early-morning line was there, students and poorfolk and such who don't have well-rooms in their homes, or who haven't been able to afford having them maintained and repaired. The neighborhood fountain is a simple thing, eight stylized ivory faces (predictably, one for each prime species) breathing water. Well, the Cani face is clogged completely and the Sleeth face is just dripping. And they didn't put the Zi Ri face up where nobody could reach it except Zi Ri, unfortunately.

There's a good reason why I don't go to the public fountain in the morning. The line was awfully long; I must have waited nine minutes for my bath. Also all the Cani in the neighborhood were howling and snapping at each other ... well ... three teenagers were having a contest for affan in water-drawing, behind me in line, and I nearly got stepped on.

And somebug said, "Zie's washing the Herethroy off," and somebug else laughed a lot and said "I'd scrub even harder than that!" Not the first time I've heard things like that ... but now I know they're talking about me.

This is not to be tolerated. But I don't know what to do about it.

Spare Roommate [25 Hivvem 4260]

Tethezai has, evidently, moved in. At least she spent last night in Dustweed's arms. Some might expect that having a Zi Ri in the fireplace watching -- or, at least, compelled to listen -- to their nocturnal adventures, would be an important addition for such a libertine as she. In fact, their nocturnal adventures have been either (1) very quiet and subtle, or (2) not happened at all. Or possibly they stunned me with a spell without my noticing, but I think not.

The other choice for them is worse. Last night they were together at Tethezai's home. Tethezai's parents made quite a point of installing "Lady Dustweed" in the Lavender Suite, sending maids to check on zir before zie fell asleep, and all of that. The Lavender Suite is close by the mother's bedroom, and has windows to outside and hall. The maids are Herethroy. Tethezai made, it is said, three essays to sneak there and collect some suitable privatude, but none was available.

Which brings me to the musing (or poll) of the morning: What Is Tethezai Thinking?

1. What is it when you choose your playmate on the basis of zir gender or some other (in this case) exotic feature?
   • Love
   • Lust
2. What is it when you bring your playmate home to your vicious parents?
   • Love
   • Lust
   • Cruelty
3. What is it when you want to sleep in the same bed as zir, even when there's no chance of anything worthwhile happening?
   • Love
   • Lust
   • Cruelty
   • Rebellion
4. What is it when you all but move in with zir, only without paying rent or doing chores or otherwise helping?
   • Love
   • Lust
   • Cruelty
   • Freeloading

Name of the Day [25 Hivvem 4260]

Brigandina Strenata was gracious enough to invite me to go riding with her this morning. (How does she come to have half a horse? She's not got enough money for half of its stabling! She didn't mention who the other owner was -- presumably that's who pays.) I didn't ride a horse; I perched on her shoulder, and curled my tail over her arm when she nipped the horse's ear and sent her into a gallop.

We took the Cyarr Road rollward four miles and more, to where the Greystark river crosses the Alamme. The Greystark is, of course, all grey with mud and silt, and comes from the edge of the branch. The Alamme is twice its size, and quite cold, and scented with world-sap, and ordinarily flows down the center of the branch or close enough.

The rivers cross, with the warm muddy Greystark slithering over the back of the cold perfumed Alamme like a smaller snake crossing a larger one. If you leap from your horse, and strip off your tunic and trowsers, and leap into the river, as Brigandina did, you can swim between the two rivers and try to mingle their waters. It will not work very well, though a few strands of muddy water are coursing down the Alamme, and a Cani might sniff the Greystark ten leagues downstream and smell sweet sap.

The two rivers cross at an Orren village inevitably named Crosston. Some former duke of Vheshrame, not as secure in his power as the current duke, built Fort Anastrense -- or, rather, hired a wizard whom I know to build it. The building of the fort is a pleasant manor house, save for six ballistas on its flat roof, and the envenomed gaze of its enchantments watching you from six miles away. The heart of the fort is a flock of white birds, gleaming like ivory, for ivory they are. We might not have noticed them, for they are hidden to the magic sense, save that we saw one fly out the chimney of the manor house.

I could not see what potencies they have, and grandparent never told me, but the history books know and the Crosston villagers remember: a peck with the beak which reaches to bone will turn all the victim's bones to lightning. The lucky ones die quickly from the lightning. The villagers laugh at this story, and tell about the mob of laughing, boneless Khtsoyis that took the fort in an afternoon of maceful fighting.

Brigandina and I ate pickled flounder rolled around water weeds atop Fort Anastrense, as the deadly birds flew overhead, and we leaned back against a siege engine scarred long ago by flame and by space-wrench, and she kissed me with the scent of fish on her breath, and she changed her name to Seeks-Feathers, and we rode back home.

I do wish she'd, oh, do an interpretive dance to clarify all relevant matters, or some such.

The Barking from Beyond the Threshold [25 Hivvem 4260]

Thery and Havune are fighting again. This time it is more even. Havune is distressed at filthy, oozing tunics (such as might have been worn for a full day by a fairly neat student) near his nice clean bed. Thery is offended at Havune's frequent moving and reshuffling of her papers, in particular, motions which hide books she is trying to read. Perhaps the book in question was on the shared easy chair by the fireplace, and perhaps it should not have been; in any case, one can understand Thery's displeasure to find it under her pillow. Or, more properly, not to find it until quite late in the day. Havune was reduced to a wordless barking fury.

I clattered my claws on their door. "O honored apartment mates, please to dispute with all available quietude."

"Shall we write our disputations upon waxboards, as tonguebonded acolytes of the Order of the Drangui?" said Thery.

"Um ... perhaps you could be more quiet," I asked.

"Perhaps we could be. It has been a while since Havune and I cooperated on any topic at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you need a mediator?"

Havune said, "Probably, but not you."

"Why not me?"

"Because you are a stinking little both-female lover; what do you think? We'll get Tethezai to mediate."

Dustweed, behind me in the living room, thumped zir hands on zir chest and laughed.

"No, because at least one of us will have to live with you for some while more, and best if that one isn't particularly annoyed with you," said Havune. "Cani families do that -- when two people quarrel, the family always finds someone who isn't married to either of them to mediate."

"Are you thinking of moving out?" asked Dustweed.

"Yarwain and I are trying to find a room together. We're not sure of the dates yet." said Thery.

Dustweed and I stared at each other. "I guess I can't blame you," zie said. "That would leave us with a bit of a problem."

"Finding another roommate for the rest of the year, yes."

There was much unhappy quietness, and much discussion of other options and possible dates and all such as that. Tethezai was proposed, but she Will Not Do. For one thing, Havune will not share a room with me (nor with Dustweed); he can't endure Thery's messiness, and we are both twelve times worse. For another thing, she doesn't want to leave her very comfortable home.

Questing for Feathers, Questing for Roommates [25 Hivvem 4260]

Where does one go, when one seeks feathers in Vheshrame? Or, if one is intending to impress someone else who does? The answer is obvious, if one is suitably well connected. One goes to the Ducal Menagerie.

The Ducal Menagerie is outside the city walls, of course. I saw few, if any, creatures which would be forbidden inside the walls -- so far as I know, at least. A dread and wicked conlee could have been labelled as an ordinary thirrline, and I could hardly have spotted the difference.

But I daresay that the Master of the Menagerie would be hard to fool; she is a Rassimel, and much of her days and nights are spent in the Academy's Zoology building, or in various classrooms. She's quite a nice woman, and, like any high-quality Rassimel, is delighted to talk for hours and hours about whatever interests her. Now I know the difference between small-eyed thirrlines, Bencubus' thirrlines, lesser reticulated thirrlines, Aradrueian thirrlines both crimson-necked and aquiline, and wasp-eating thirrlines, plus another half-dozen varieties that were not present in the menagerie. Strenata was fascinated, with that quick incendiary Orren interest, and the private exhibition was adequately interesting, so I stayed awake.

On the way back, though, Seeks-Feathers (Strenata) asked me why there weren't more people visiting the menagerie. She didn't seem to like the answer that, to see the menagerie, one must have suitable connections at court.

"Why should it be reserved for nobility?"

"It's the Duke's menagerie. I daresay he can do whatever he likes with it. And you could probably have gotten in yourself, if you'd talked to the Master, or taken one of her clases," I said.

We discussed that a bit more. She's distinctly displeased with the nobility of Vheshrame for some reason. I do hope she doesn't have any powerful enemies.... I suppose she likely doesn't. Anyone of any great political influence who actively disliked her could surely have, oh, exiled her, or gotten her flogged, or some such by now. And that she has not been.

At home:Thery introduced us to a Rassimel gentleman named Dubaille. He is in the final stages of divorcing the Lady Quissenden; he is eager to leave the townhouse that they shared for nine years and three children. His family fortunes are not the greatest --- I gather he married Quissenden as much for money as any other reason --- and the revenues from Nhopp Nhiffem (which he owns) are also not the greatest; he does the accounts for half a dozen bakeries around town. He is reasonably elegant of appearance, and he expressed willingness to be exceedingly neat for Havune's sake. When we described Dustweed's deformity, he simply shrugged. He seems rather ground down by his recent events, which certainly makes sense to me. I daresay he'll do for three months more.

Movers and Talkers [25 Hivvem 4260]

Rassimel move very quickly when they start moving!

"Move", of course, means "Move out of one apartment and into another." Thery acquired a great quantity of wooden boxes -- a dozen at least -- from Countess Gloun's estates. (Vows of fealty cut both ways.) Havune, his dispute with Thery being amply patched and healed by having her move out, acquired an even greater quantity of relatives -- nineteen, though three of them were under two years old, so the actual number was more like twelve -- and made a party of it, as Cani are wont to do. Yarwain helped. Dustweed helped. Tethezai was nowhere to be found. I, of course, could do very little but fly around overhead and amuse the puppies, or to sit on Dustweed's box and see if zie noticed the extra weight. (Zie didn't.)

Two caravans to get everything of Thery's out of the apartment. One caravan to get Dubaille's suitcases and other oddments into the apartment.

Yarwain and Havune paid for the moving party, which was traditional and mostly for Cani: a very big pie of chopped shellfish and minced liver and turnips and leeks; a leather cauldron of bean soup; big loaves of crunchy bread sprinkled with mustard seeds. Havune slipped the caterer a few extra lozens, and the bean soup was thick with duck and sausage, and there were poptaloops for dessert. It was very extravagant for an hour's work. I think that Havune was taking it as a chance to give a treat to his poor relations -- or to show his wealth and power to them? Both, maybe; Cani do that sort of thing.

Immediately upon getting home, Dubaille conscripted me as the Person Who Must Listen. I heard about his children, his soon-to-be-former wife, his regret that he can no longer hunt gamebirds on her estate with fork-tipped crossbow. He had a great deal to say. I heard about the fine sausages that the Lady Quissenden's cook makes, and how they were far superior to the ones Havune supplied today, and how the Lady Quissenden flung a laquered wooden chalice from the Tusuntu Imperiat at him in one of their recent arguments. He certainly had a great deal to say! I heard how upset he is that our eating utensils are so often wooden, for he prefers ivory, and that the Lady Quissenden should return to him the set of ivory ones he gave her as one of his marriage gifts, and how the Lady Quissenden's maid set a basket of his clothing outside under a tree, when he was leaving, and now it is covered with sticky sap.

And then Havune padded in to the common room, tail wagging, and asked Dubaille if he needed any help unpacking. Though I know it was mostly to make sure that Dubaille was going to be as neat as advertised, I felt just a tad rescued.

A side note: Dubaille doesn't own Nhopp Nhiffem. Quissenden does.

Night on the Tower of Verstenweld [25 Hivvem 4260]

I invited Seeks-Feathers (Strenata) on the other feathery event that I had heard of in Vheshrame.

Ages ago -- in year 3,738 to be specific -- Duke Verstenweld imposed justice upon certain of his subjects. From what the guide said, it was real, honest-to-gods justice. The Rassimel tailor Turio Bhessarde had not left poisoned needles in three overcoats and killed three of his customers in a single day. It was a coincidence. One of the customers, Gratella Isquin, was poisoned by her aunt for excessive disobedience. (The guide did not say whether she was more obedient after she died, but I rather suspect her aunt found her a bit passive-aggressive.) The second, Nharm Ossmissypre, was poisoned, along with his footman (who had not bought an overcoat from Bhessarde), by a rival for the post of vice-comptroller of treasury; public finances were rather dramatic that year. The third, Nharm Osschario, wasn't even poisoned; he was killed by a Sleeth in an alley, probably because he had tried to rob the Sleeth. A confused broadsheet got some details from Nharm Ossmissypre's story mixed into Nharm Osschario's, and he wound up poisoned in the public opinion as well.

Nonetheless, an amateur detective put two and two and two together and came up with an overcoat, and collected a few dozen heavily-armed friends to forcibly collect Bhessarde the tailor and exert justice upon him. An Orren from the city guard, one Wetwave, knowing the truth about Isquin and Osschario, fancied himself the hero of justice, and defended Bhessarde, to the point of wounding several of the more amateur justice-makers rather badly.

The populace, upon hearing more, decided to ignore Bhessarde, but demanded that Wetwave be exiled for carving bits off of many of their relatives.

In Vheshrame at the time, the authority to do this rested in the Duke. (It's formally in the Legeriat now, which is to say, the Duke decides but is not technically responsible.) Duke Verstenweld refused to exile Wetwave, saying that he was obviously quite skillful, being able to ventilate so many armed and angry people without them being able to even touch him, and that the city needed that in their upcoming duel-war with Ulmarn.

Matters were generally violent in those days. The Scented Quarter, where the murders had happened and where many, many Cani lived at the time, took to public protests. They burned Duke Verstenweld's personal chapel, which was in the middle of the Scented Quarter, as an expression of disapproval of his policies.

Duke Verstenweld was an apt and effective progenitor of today's Duke. He denied several city blocks the right to rest their houses upon his land. [In Vheshrame, as many other places, the Duke owns the land that the city is build on. -bb] One tree-mage managed to levitate her house over the duke's lands, where it floated for thirty years until a storm blew it into the city wall and killed everyone in it. Everyone else in those blocks had to leave, which evidently caused much misery and further -- but less incendiary -- protests.

The duke, of course, rebuilt his chapel, including a new and rather splendid tower. By the time the tower was built, he was sufficiently displeased with the populace and the city as a whole that he commanded that the city not be seen from atop the tower. A competent illusionist -- I am pretty sure not my half-sibling -- arranged matters so that view from the upper balcony seems to be that of some berserk skyship, a flurry of huge wings flapping green and golden feathers beneath, chasing the Star-Serpent around amid stars and gods' heads.

Afterwards, Seeks-Feathers told me the rest of the story: Wetwave yelled and objected at the Duke's razing of the neighborhood, and was promptly exiled.

Which is a longwinded way of saying that we found the Tower of Verstenweld quite interesting, and let the curator explain the whole story to us, but we got into another spat about the need for nobility on the way home.

I do seem to be getting an education from dating Strenata, but it's not the one I wanted.

The Destruction of the Teapot [26 Hivvem 4260]

Dubaille has fastidioussed thoroughly at Havune, and Havune is quite happy of that part at least.

From the other room, there is not complete delight. Dustweed had quite a nice antique ceramic teapot, thin porcelain, with the imprints of ferns on the sides, from the Verkoth dynasty of last century -- and, for the benefit of all monsters, a teapot is a vessel in which one puts hot water, leaves, flowers, and spices, and from which one pours forth steaming aromatic beverages all over one's clothing because, when one is using it, one is usually chatting with one's Rassimel girlfriend and one is evidently still stunned at the concept of a girlfriend, or a Rassimel girlfriend.

However, Dubaille confused the concepts of "teapot" and "teakettle". For the benefit of all monsters, a teakettle is a fireproofed leather or cloth bag with a complicated spout which one fills with water and places in the kitchen fire until steam screams from its nozzle, and one then calls one's fireproof Zi Ri roommate to fish out. The teakettle provides water for the teapot, you see.

But Dubaille has only been in a kitchen to steal poptaloops from the cook.

And Dubaille put the nice antique ceramic teapot, full of water, on the kitchen fire. And went back to his bedroom and took a nap. He expected to be awoken by a whistle when the water was boiled.

Instead he was awoken by Tethezai yelling at me for destroying Dustweed's valuable antique teapot, and me shouting back that I had not done (true), that I know which end of a kitchen is the hot one (true), and that I use breathfire to boil water when I want tea (false).

A gracious and honest Rassimel would have immediately explained his mistake and offered to make amends as best he could.

A less gracious and less honest Rassimel peeked his masky face out the door, and shrugged, and went back to bed.

Dustweed saved me from Tethezai's wrath, by means of reminding her that I was the one habitually used in place of a lifting-fork to take the teakettle out of the fire, and thus was well aware of the proper use of teakettles. Havune was out of the apartment the whole time, practicing martial arts and/or marital arts with Anoof, so he had not done.

*KNOCK*, *KNOCK*, *KNOCK* "Dubaille, are you in there?"

"Sure, one minute..." Though it was more properly a third of an hour before we saw his masked face again.

Well, the discussion was a bit bitter and a bit acrimonious. Tethezai is fierce and fearsome in defense of Dustweed, or even Dustweed's teapot! Dubaille, for his part, admitted no great wrongdoing, and even acclaimed himself for cleaning the teapot and sundry other dishes that Dustweed and Tethezai had left. In the end the two Rassimel agreed that Dubaille would replace the teapot, and be a bit more careful.

Social Calls [1 Nivvem 4260]

Return of the Teapot, part 1

Dubaille announced, with a blare of trumpets and accordions, that he had procured a new teapot to replace the old one. Unfortunately some incomprehensible confusion prevented the newly-procured teapot from actually reaching Dustweed. Nonetheless Dubaille expected praise and gratitude. Nonetheless, neither was available in any great quantity.

Thery's New Apartment

Thery and Yarwain now live on the fifth and final floor of a very tall and very flat house, the Ostwiller Alley House. Long ago, in ancient times, of roughly the previous decade, Deefe Ostwiller owned the house on one side, and Whispery Ostwiller owned the house on the other side, and between those two houses there was a modest-sized alleyway. Packs of Cani children rampaged along the alley, for it was on the way from a Cani section of the poorer part of the city to Maulgay Park. Some piles of whatnots in the alley made a good place for Cani to play king-of-the-heap, loudly, most mornings. So the Ostwillers conspired against them, and one month they built a new house in the alley, whose left walls are the outer walls of Deefe Ostwiller's house, and whose right walls are the outer walls of Whispery Ostwiller's house, and whose roof is one story short of those two houses because Deefe and Whispery wanted everyone to know which houses were the most important. And they rent rooms in the Ostwiller Alley House out to students.

It is a very odd apartment. It has five rooms, all in a row: there is a curtain between the study and the bedroom, a sort of thin wooden portcullis between the bedroom and the kitchen; a flimsy wooden door between the kitchen and the other study; a stout oak door between the other study and the privy. The privy faces the Cani section, and is well-ventilated, making that story about the Ostwillers more plausible. The front door is reached by climbing a ladder affixed to the front of the house; there is no room for stairs inside. Furniture must be levitated up.

Lunch -- they had invited me over for lunch -- was Thery's ving-bean soup (with chopped spinach in it for variety), and the little triangular cheese-and-anchovy pastries that Floooosh has been trying to get me to taste for months. (I expect I will be trying to get rid of the taste for months.)

In any case, Thery and Yarwain seem deliriously happy, in the very understated Rassimel way. "We're getting along tolerably well," Thery said when I asked, and Yarwain smiled at her. From this I should infer ... I don't know what, exactly. Perhaps Thery will abscond to the Ulstramme and eat Yarwain's fine figs for the rest of her life, and leave her benefactor in the lurch. They didn't say.

Seeking Feathers

Strenata continues to accept my advances, but only in the vaguest of senses. The most recent advance was an afternoon performance of The Troublers of Tulterry -- the Herethroy playing Dorchander Moon was roped to Strenata in Spelunking class -- followed by dinner at the Yistreian restaurant Tamvaus. The play was a perfectly fine student performance for student dating, which is to say, tedious enough so that it seemed only natural for me to curl my neck lazily along Strenata's arm during the second act, and just as natural for her to fiddle with my tailtip during the third.

Dinner, of course, curtailed my opportunities for subtle seduction. I had forgotten about the Evil Stools of Yistreia -- Tamvaus does not let one sit upon ordinary chairs, but upon short brocaded stools. I can stretch my neck to reach my plate, when my belly is on the stool, but this would require me to eat without using my hands, like some fearsome yet diminutive monster. With only two of us, there was room on the table for me to sit, and I didn't have to levitate. This is good -- levitating is rather stuck-up and prissy, which is not a thing that Strenata appreciates. It is also bad, because it emphasizes our difference in size and how odd we look together.

I did warn Strenata about the fearsome arhoolie leaves, and the Yistreian use of mice. She immediately ordered the special appetizer of the day, kshiktav ylluul -- squaretailed mice en brochette stuffed with garlic and arhoolie. All my hopes of seducing her were destroyed when she ate a mouse whole, and then -- alas! -- quenched the pain with sporchey [a very thin custard, drunk as a beverage -bb] rather than wine.

She did finish the entire skewer of mice, despite never having eaten arhoolie leaves before. The waiter was astounded! She instantly renamed herself "Arhoola"! I performed the proper ritual, writing "Arhoola" on a bit of the program for The Troublers and tucking it in her hat. The waiter was even more astounded!

There is a Yistreian traditional cake, called yshmaukki, baked for name-change celebrations. Arhoola was brought a slice of it after the end of her meal, for free, by an astounded and amused waiter. It is a distinctly strange cake, not very sweet, made with chopped nuts and chopped cabbage and raisins and candied hard-boiled sparrows' eggs.

And we walked for a while -- well, she walked, I rode on her shoulder -- through the town at evening, and spoke of caves and leaves and sparrows' eggs and other safe things. And that was that.

Many Dinners [2 Nivvem 4260]

The sneaky forces of Intentional Destiny (who, according to most theologians, do not exist [they don't -- bb]) are conspiring to give me a career as a city pigeon. Or, perhaps, a child's ball.

The First Dinner: Thery and Yarwain and Iska

I should have been more careful, more alert and watchful, more deviously cunning, for he invited Iska too. Ah, well, at least her mathematical prowess will be helpful in the assigment. And I can mock her poor Ketherian in this journal: "O Thery, soup of apricot is the very good tonight! For you I thank this soup!"

Soup of apricot was the very good tonight, and leftover takeout acorn-and-cashew stew, and a box of Floooooooshy poptaloops, and a salad that looked like Dustweed and Tethezai had gone berserk in it (Dustweed Herethroy for saladness, Tethezai art-student for all the colors of leaves and petals) but turned out to be the leftover takeout mixed salad that went with the stew.

We picked the catalog of the glass collection of Durnokk Glassfanged, a Gormoror war-king from Iska's home branch three centuries ago. Nobody else will do that one, we are sure, even though it is in the book of case studies; and Iska explained where the listed provenances actually are.

Fine. She's very useful. Hmph. At least she's properly grateful to be included in polite society: grateful enough to do lots of maths for us.

But Thery had to bring Yarwain to meet her aunt Strie -- Quastrica --- and so we were spared the worst of the spraddling, at least until the morrow.

The Second Dinner: Havune and Anoof

I returned home. Dubaille was off taking his children somewhere (which turned out to be the Sloop in Soup, which is an odd and awkward place for children, but Dubaille makes many odd and awkward choices), so Anoof was over, and Havune was simmering a soup of carrots and cabbages and meatballs.

I sat on the stove and interrogated Anoof for the first time. He and Havune and one other man (Broon) and two women (Leiska and Narngi) are tentatively engaged. (For monsters: Cani marry in groups of about a dozen or thereabouts, so Havune and friends are no closer than half there, and it can't be a proper and real engagement 'til they've got everyone.) Anoof and Havune are to be brother-brothers, which doesn't strictly mean they have to be lovers, though I think they are. Other arrangements: Broon and Narngi are to be husband and wife; that's the closest degree of marriage. Leiska and Narngi will be sister-sisters; they've been planning that since they were six.

Anoof or Havune will be Leiska's mate (closer than just 'married', but not as close as 'husband and wife', and 'brother-brother' or 'sister-sister' is ... um ... about the same I guess? I'll have to ask), but it hasn't been decided who it will be. This seems wrong to me -- shouldn't it be about who loves whom the most, or something? -- but no, it's as much about balancing the family (which I don't understand) and providing good pedigrees for the puppies (which I suppose makes sense) as about love.

For Cani, love isn't particularly what starts a marriage going. With such a big gang of people, I imagine you can't really wait for love to thump everyone the right way in any case. They start with enough love, and grow the rest after the marriage is going.

And while they were arguing about Leiska -- Anoof likes her better, but he likes females better in general, and he was pointing out that Havune is a slightly better sire for Leiska's children and will have to take a mate or two and a wife in any case -- I abducted a meatball and some cabbage. This was foolish.

The Third Dinner: Strenata

Foolish, for not three minutes later, Arhoola (Strenata) showed up and abducted me. To return to her apartment, and lie on her bare lilac-spotted belly, and breathroast sprats and dip them into a very odd and dangerous sauce she had just made of vinegar and chilis and chiffonade of arhoolie leaves, and feed them to each other.

Which is something I wish to greatly encourage. Especially since we were flirting about whether she really needed to keep her skirt on ... and she had just extracted a promise from me that I wouldn't spill the odd, dangerous, and surely-painful sauce into her lap, when of course her roommate Oonspath returned.

When I say "Oonspath returned", I mean "Oonspath returned, and immediately started demanding that she pay her portion of the rent, and various other sundry expenses."

Arhoola pointed out that she had already paid her portion of the rent. Oonspath disputed this.

In the best Orren style, they had only confusing and fragmentary records, which were lost somewhere in the apartment.

Two-thirds of an hour later, Strenata kissed me (yum!) and we made another date for two days' hence, and sent me home.

The Fourth Dinner: Spirshash

Home, where (1) Dustweed and Tethezai were holed up in my room, talking in low unhappy tones -- some adolescent Herethroy had thrown logs at Dustweed again -- and (2) Spirshash was whimpering on the couch in the common room, waiting for me.

Spirshash has some reason to whimper. Tillissa and Oostmarine have been getting ever-closer; Tillissa and Spirshash have been fighting more. This evening, Oostmarine shook his head and said that he really hoped their marriage could continue... which, for young and not-deeply-connected Orren, means roughly "I imagine we'll get divorced within the year."

Well, Spirshash had been crying a great deal, and not doing much else, and his hands were actually shaking, so I tried to feed him the leftover Cani dinner, but there was no leftover Cani dinner, so I took him out to the Cafe du Fronde to share a tureen of trout chowder and a chalice of kathia with butter and chissowary and sugar and a plate of little triangle scallop-and-cherry pastries, and a lot of comforting.

And a great deal of comforting was required. All of which was the sort that can conveniently be done in the Cafe du Fronde -- at the most interesting, I tail-hugged his wrist -- but we talked for about three hours. Talked in circles, and absolutely nothing was settled except for his stomach and his mind.

(He did say, "I should have coupled with you while I had the chance. Then maybe they and I would have broken up cleanly and sharply, not this slow gangrenous division." I think I will work a bit and take this as a compliment.)

So, I took him back to our apartment, and put him on the couch, and fed him some mediocre brandy Thery didn't want to take to her new home, and covered him with a light blanket, and there he slept the night. I flew back into my room, where Tethezai from Dustweed's bed gave me the secret smile of Those Who Take Care Of Others In Need, and draped myself over logs to sleep.

Still, four dinners in one day is a bit much, even for me...

Fort Dubaille [3 Nivvem 4260]

Havune is in a blue and purple fury, for Dubaille is keeping his word about being tidy.

Dubaille, however, is quite literal about it: he, Dubaille, is working quite hard to be clean and tidy. On the whole I judge that he is succeeding, at least in that bedroom. The kitchen sometimes needs more attention. (And a much-awaited teapot, which has yet to arrive.)

But Dubaille has two children, and some arrangement with the Lady Quissenden puts the children in his care now and then. I suppose I have to count it a good and honorable thing that, when he made whatever weak negotiations he could, he chose the rights to see his children rather than, say, a stipend.

I can't really fault the children, who are used to having a nurse tending them, and a nursery, and a fenced yard in front of their townhouse, or a bigger estate in their country house. Perhaps they are a bit bored visiting with just their father. Perhaps they have some distress on seeing how little their father and mother like each other.

(I wouldn't know; my ~father~ rarely visited. But it is rare for Zi Ri to live together. [No, it's not rare. -bb])

In any case, the Dubaillelings were less gentle with Dubaille's clothes, and the blankets in that bedroom. Not to put too fine a point on it, they built a fort from furs and chairs and desks and many of Havune's textbooks, and scrambled around in it for two hours while Dubaille ... tried to get someone to pay back a loan to him, I think. Something he'd expected to take three minutes but proved far more challenging.

Dubaille was in no hurry to clean up the fort. He explained to Havune that he had not made it; his children had, and therefore it was not covered by his agreement with Havune to clean up his own messes. And he was not going to clean it up until he returned his children to the Lady Quissenden, and made another attempt to get his loan back, and then returned to the apartment.

And I suppose I can't blame him for that. If he doesn't return his children well before nightfall, the Lady Quissenden may henceforth deny him the sight of them. And if he doesn't manage to collect on his loan, he shan't be eating well, nor paying his share of the rent on time.

Still, Havune is storming around the apartment, snarling and showing his fangs. I am off to see if I see what has become of Spirshash. Somehow it seems impolitic to go visit Thery and Yarwain; Havune would smell them on me when I got back, and I daresay he's just as annoyed at Thery as at Dubaille. The wandering boot was an annoyance; Fort Dubaille in the bedroom is a chaos.

Love and War. (Or just War) [4 Nivvem 4260]

The plan for the evening with Arhoola Strenata was:

1. A casual stroll along the bank of the ponds in the open ducal park.
2. A spontaneous gift of ginger- and leek-fed snails, which are just in season today but I was pretty sure Strenata didn't know were in season yet.
3. A swim, for which I borrowed Real-Eel's tooth amulet.
4. A drying-off in the Glade of Five Winds. [A public art project consisting of five kinds of trees surrounded by five small perpetual whirlwinds, so that the trees are growing in spiral shapes. -bb]
5. A dinner at Scalminatore's.
6. A return to my apartment, in a choreographed dance of mutual avoidance with Tethezai and Dustweed. (They will start their evening with the physical affection, since they are on such terms already, and then go to dinner and an evening lecture.)
7. And then we should see what we should see.

(Oh, and I have decided to do my term project in Enchantment to be some sort of device to help me swim. Water-breathing is a bit more challenging than I want to build just yet -- one does not necessarily wish to trust one's life to one's freshling project.)

The actual evolution of the evening with Seeks-Justice Strenata. (I wasn't there for that choice of name, and she didn't particularly explain it to me.)

1. A casual stroll up to the open ducal park. Which, when we arrived, proved to be the closed ducal park. Ulmarn is evidently at war with Rusunder, and Vheshrame of course is host and referee.
2. A quick whispered conversation in which Seeks-Justice demanded that I use my insidious noble's powers to get in so she can see the war -- she has a lover in Rusunder, and of course Yarwain is from Ulmarn. (Note to self for later: inquire further about this lover in Rusunder.)
3. I quickly manufactured a spoken invitation from Hezimikkinen. Naturally Hezimikkinen is thoroughly involved in the war, setting up protections so that the battle doesn't hurt any military observers from other countries, or judges from Vheshrame, or dukes of Vheshrame. We were admitted. The ducal guards are used to Hezimikkinen's secrecies, whims, and vapors. They would not have been the least bit surprised to hear that Hezimikkinen wanted every tree in the part set ablaze, as a precaution (against ice attacks slipping off each other, I suppose), and two surprise guests hardly caused them to blink.
4. The war was well underway when we got there. It was a very small duel-war, four champions on each side. We got there just in time for Pehestrum Seven-Handed of Rusunder to lose three precious internal organs to a very nasty three-headed spear tossed by Reul Yystiander.
5. At which point, Hezimikkinen, boredom dusting zir wings, flew up behind me and breathed fire on me -- in public! -- and teased me thoroughly that zie did not know I was interested in regional politics, but that zie would be sure to actually invite me to further duel-wars and other tedious diplomatic necessities. Zie then settled down and gave us a bit of commentary: Reul and Pehestrum hate one another; Pehestrum has slain Reul five or six times, and humiliated her in various ways that have nothing to do with duelling or war; Reul hired herself to Ulmarn for a twelfth of her usual fee, presumably so she could toss that spear at Pehestrum. There is even speculation that she somehow engineered the war, though Hezimikkinen is dubious, since zie advised the duke to arrange for it himself before the border dispute between Rusunder and Ulmarn got any worse and turned into a hate-war. [Hate-war is something between raiding by small bands of extremely powerful heroes and terrestrial war; in particular few if any precautions are taken to ensure that the uninvolved are not hurt. Duel-wars, such as this one, are fairly stylized contests and displays of strength, indicating how dangerous each cities' heroes are and how much damage might come from a hate-war. Such contests are sensible in a world where a single person might be as dangerous as a hundred average city guards, or ten thousand. -bb]
6. Reul's three-headed bitey spear to the contrary, Rusunder won the war. Rusunder's champions had arranged a trap for Reul with Pehestrum as bait, giving Pehestrum spells for enduring vast injuries with coma but without immediate death -- a sort of magic more often found in the halls of medicine or criminal justice than on the battlefield, for they interfere with more useful spells for staying active past physical death in the Gormoror style. Some nicely-crafted taunting provoked Reul into close combat, leading to quite an incendiary surprise. Pehestrum was not so badly slain that he could not be healed to life by routine methods. Reul's body, still easily healable, served as bait for the second mouth of the trap, in which Clyn Tyn Avaratica was transformed entirely into amber. Since Tyn Avaratica is mainly a warrior, and generally relies on devices and bound spells for magic, this left him in an unfortunate situation, with very few choices of what to do. The other two Ulmarn champions surrendered, as is customary when outnumbered two to one.
7. Hezimikkinen mocked Ulmarn considerably; they had a significant advantage in skill and equipment at the beginning. Then zie flew off to help arrange the aftermath.
8. Strenata was somewhat in her awe, and somewhat in her anger. She has of course heard of Hezimikkinen. She can no longer pretend that I have only minor political connections. (I have very potent but utterly useless political connections, save for the purpose of being admitted or sometimes commanded to a wide variety of events.) She seems uncertain about what to do with me. Though I am not entirely sure why she is obligated or even allowed to do anything with me.
9. Dinner at Scalminatore's was suggested, and brusquely rejected. Strenata had by this time seen far too much of the mighty. She evidently prefers to pretend that the mighty do not exist.
10. Dinner at The Sloop In Soup was suggested and accepted. Seeks-Justice had damson-plum and mussel soup, a la sloop, which I was not permitted to pay for. I had scallop and leek soup, raw, and a quarter bowl. It was noisy and crowded, and we shared a table with a pair of Herethroy women stevedores who spent the whole evening arguing, loudly, about who had carried the most of what when. Strenata and I argued, softly, about:
    • The ethics of starting wars among neighboring city-states, given that occasionally such wars turn into hate-wars;
    • The ethics of allowing one's sibling to start such wars;
    • The difficulty of persuading one's sibling to any course of action, when one's sibling is so many centuries older than one;
    • The necessity for one to argue and dispute with one's sibling -- for truth and justice do not vary with the age of the speaker!
    • (And a variety of related ethical and practical matters.)
11. Strenata would walk me back home, and would even say that she had a truly memorable evening and would in fact like to go swimming with me at some point, but perhaps in the river or some public place. Nothing happened to make the evening any more memorable, though.

Now I have to arrange further choreography with Dustweed and Tethezai, and return Real-Eel's tooth, and all for nothing much except soup and bickering.

Return of the Teapot (part 2) [5 Nivvem 4260]

Dubaille returned today with a smallish wooden box, which he presented to Dustweed and Tethezai with great ceremony and thorough dignity. Inside the box there was much straw, and a small brown clay teapot. "I may not be a man of great means," said he, "but I do repay my debts."

Tethezai took one look at the teapot, and I thought for a moment that Dubaille would soon be wearing it. She curled her tail, and said "Very well, then." and took Dustweed's mid-hand and lead her out of the apartment.

Dubaille turned to me, and expressed frustration at Tethezai's apparant refusal to forgive him a minor and swiftly-corrected mistake -- and Havune's clear refusal to accept that he, Dubaille, was keeping strictly to the letter of their agreement. "Fortunately, you are my friend and have no mysterious and unfounded hatred for me, Sythyry, or else I should be quite alone among the residents of this place," he said.

I did not argue with him on that, but he is not entirely right. What does one do with such as Dubaille? He is in every way but title inferior to Thery, or indeed to anyone living here now, but his situation is unfortunate. Not the sort of thorough, divinely ordained unfortunity -- unfortunateness? -- that is Dustweed's; the very common and easy unfortunateness that could come to anyone. Etiquette and common sense says to tolerate and encourage him and shun Dustweed, but, privately, I would rather share a room with Dustweed for another year than share an apartment with Dubaille for another month.

I got to see the teapot later. It is small, and brown, and made of clay. It was clearly intended to be symmetrical, but just as clearly the potter's thumb interfered with that, so there is an odd flattish bit on the left side with a distinct smoothed-out clawprint in it. The handle is of cane, and already starting to splinter. The spout was also intended to be symmetrical by design, but without any great diligence of execution; I daresay the potter did not want to waste an actually-symmetrical spout on an already-botched teapot. Underneath, the pot is hastily trimmed, and still has scratchy bits. There is a date and a number, in a careful Rassimel-looking hand, but no potter's mark: whoever made this piece did not care to claim it.

Under the circumstances, it seemed advisable to remember a strong social obligation elsewhere. I hunted down Spirshash, who was reading on the roof of his building. (And therein lies a minor complaint: I had carefully chosen to fly along the streets so I would have a better chance of finding him, rather than above the houses where I would actually have seen him in an instant.)

I sat on his book and demanded his attention. This was less rude than it might sound, for he was reading in the sense of "staring at Accanax' celestial eidolon as if hoping for a prophecy of destruction, with occasional glances at the book." [Accanax, and the other six creator gods of the World Tree can be seen in the sky; Accanax is the most wantonly destructive of the seven, and known for creating many monsters. -bb]

"Spirshash!" said I, "You do not read! Come away with me: it shall not help your studying, but it may help your mood."

"Well, Sythyry, and I shall come away with you, but let it be to the streets of shops, for I wish to give my wife and husband a peace offering."

"If you get them a teapot, let it be an excellent one indeed," I said, and distracted him with mockeries of Dubaille for a block and a half.

We browsed among shops for an hour and a third, and in the end Spirshash bought a small squat bottle of alarmingly crimson Gnessoise, and three small elegant glass tasting-chalices with serpents' servants on the sides [a small, elegant carnivorous insect -bb].

I had never tasted Gnessoise. Of course I did not have Spirshash open his new bottle -- the symbolism there is a bit insidious, and entirely not true, no matter how fun it sounds. But the shopkeeper had an open bottle, and I tasted a drop. It is crimson with the juice of hirexberries, and zaxasandra petals, and cochineal, and the tiny scarlet fish whose names I have forgotten, and the blood of chargers. It is every bit as complicated as it sounds, and absolutely not to my taste. Orren and Cani generally like it, though. And I rather hope Tillissa and Oostmarine are among those who do.

Truths and Evasions [6 Nivvem 4260]

A social call, when your visitors keep reminding each other that they are not officers of the court of law, is not a proper social call.

Tillissa and Oostmarine paid me a distinctly disturbing visit this morning. They seemed suspicious, that I might have spent time, and spent money, and perhaps spent other things, with their husband.

"Well, I did divert him from his studies for an hour or two, before yesterday's evening," I said.

"What, precisely, did you do?" demanded Tillissa. "Answer carefully, answer truthfully, or it will go the worse for you."

"Tillissa, we are not here with a Writ of Thoroughly Extracting the Truth," mentioned Oostmarine.

"I only fear the truth in this matter in that it is a tedious story," I said. "We shopped. We bought a bottle of Gnessoise at ... um ... the place with the green and vermillion sign on the corner of Darkhasset Street and the Avenue of the Ducal Way, the one run by Cani, with the glass portrait on the door..."

"Zie's forgotten the name. I think zie's nervous," said Oostmarine.

"I've forgotten the name because I never shop there myself!" I said.

"Ah. Continue."

"That's the end of it," I said.

"You spent three hours buying one bottle of liqueur? The proprietor must have been dreadfully slow. It's a wonder they stay in business at all."

"Oh, hardly that. We'd looked into a dozen shops. Why do you ask?" I said.

"Our reasons will become apparent in good time," said Tillissa. "Did you stop for a puppet show?"

"It was a bit early for the street performers," I said.

"You're evading the question. Did you stop for a puppet show of a sort not performed on the street?" she asked, glaring.

"Whatever are you getting at?" I asked.

Tillissa and Oostmarine looked at each other and nodded. "And a meal? Did you, or did you not, eat with him?"

"Well, sometime that afternoon, I surely did," I answered. I had bought a pair of small crab dumplings on a skewer, but I could not remember whether Spirshash was there at the time or not.

"Darraden's? A private booth? So that nobody could see you?" she asked. She sounded quite angry.

"I can hardly afford Darraden's on any sort of a regular basis!" Which is unfortunate, but true.

Oostmarine stood up and paced, his tail lashing. "Sythyry, please give us clear answers. You may take this quite lightly, but be assured that we do not. You say you cannot afford it often: but you can afford it once, and so can Spirshash."

"No, then. No Darraden's. No shared meal. Have you any other rude questions for me?" I was not pleased with them by that point!

"Did you seduce our husband in that private booth? Or did he seduce you?"

"I hardly know what might have happened in some imaginary booth! There wasn't a real one," I said.

"This is getting nowhere. Sythyry, you should try telling the truth now and then. Your evasions are feeble." They stormed out, in a fury.

This can't be good.

(And, for the record, I am not particularly evasive. It is good style for Zi Ri to answer questions indirectly!)

A Bad Morning [7 Nivvem 4260]

Slightly before I wanted to be awake this morning, an Orren child came knocking on our door. This meant that Dubaille came knocking on my door, saying, "Sythyry, there's a message come for you." Of course he would not tip the child himself, so I had to brush ashes out of my feathers and fly around my room looking for a few terch to give.

Here is the note. Imagine that the original is painted on a leaf, as if it were to go from city to city by the post. The letters are in red, and sloppier than Strenata's usual hand. Some letters are perfumed; this was dusted with the pollen of the flower known as stinking margay. (I know that because Havune said, "It smells as though Dubaille's wife gave him a bouquet of stinking margay as a measure of her esteem.")

From Seeks-Justice Strenata to Sythyry. Your behavior astounds me; I cannot approve of it; I despise it entirely; I deny anny [sic] suggestion of a connection between us forfurthermore. I am not a toy for your noble amusement; I am not a highborn libertine; I have great regard for chastity and fidelity. How can you date me and futter Spirshash on the side? With lying and deception, that is how! How can you distract Spirshash when his wife and husband should get his full attention? With greed and selfishness, that is how! I thought you had some sympathy for truth and good! Instead your only sympathy is for your own genitalia! Well, elaborate upon that sympathy with some stinking, lust-sodden baron's cousin or something. Leave me aside from it!

I certainly should have futtered Spirshash while I had the chance. There was, of course, no actual chance: no offer, no suggestion that any offer might be acceptable. We didn't even flirt! I rode on his shoulder because otherwise I have to fly (which is too fast unless he is jogging), or levitate (which is too slow, unless he is limping), or walk (in which case a dean will step on my paw and break it again).

I distinctly hope that Strenata will believe my explanation. For that matter, that Oostmarine and Tillissa will, too.

For that matter, I distinctly hope I get the chance to explain.

Rumors [7 Nivvem 4260]

There is one sensible Orren in Vheshrame. (I think there is a cosmic law that each city has one and only one sensible Orren.) So I went to her bakery to talk to her.

Of course, she was pretty well distracted by her own family troubles, and by every Rassimel in Vheshrame Mene coming to buy their Nihondras Day cakes. But there was some sensible advice:

1. Find out what actually happened. Did Spirshash have an assignation with someone else? I was with him for an hour and a third, or so. Oostmarine and Tillissa were fuming about three hours. And best if I find out in a way that other people will believe.
2. Talk to Strenata. Perhaps she will believe me, even if others do not.

And some advice that is probably sensible but I did not enjoy hearing, and therefore declare to be foolish:

1. If I continue flamboyantly trying to get involved with so many Orren, I should decide to enjoy being gossiped about.

Well, flying about town and interrogating people seemed like a good way to get thoroughly noticed. (Not that I want to get more thoroughly noticed, but my choices seem a bit limited.) Spirshash was nowhere to be found. Seeks-Justice Strenata was nowhere to be found.

Real-Eel was swimming in one of the Academy's ponds, and called up to me as I was hunting people whose names begin with 'S'. From her I collected the current rumors about me, arranged from least to most ridiculous.

1. Knowing of Spirshash's marital discord, which has been devilishly slow by Orren standards to resolve itself, I decided that he would be better off single, and chose the simplest and most direct means of ending the marriage. Purely as an act of public service!
2. Spirshash, angry at Oostmarine for favoring Tillissa over him, leapt out of bed to collect the easiest bit of adultery available; which, for an Orren -- any Orren -- is me. (I must admit that I snarled a bit at this.)
3. I have been systematically sleeping my way through all the Orren of the city: at least a dozen lovers, each of whom I drop as soon as I have caught them. Spirshash at first spurned me, so I redoubled my efforts towards him. In the end I got him drunk on Gnessoise and he succumbed.
4. I have been seeing Strenata of late. We had a tremendous fight, which included me assaulting her with a five-tentacled ice elemental in the ducal park just recently. (There was one there, but Clyn Tyn Avaratica cast it after being turned into amber, as part of the war.) In a vengeful fury, I seduced Spirshash and flung that easy conquest in Strenata's face.
5. Spirshash proposed marriage to me, as a way of getting political access to Hezimikkinen, and his other spouses be damned. I temporized, but accepted a sample of the benefits for purposes of improved decision.
6. I have designs on Dassiaturna's treasure, and this is a move in a subtle game to acquire it. (Further conversation: Me: "Who's Dassiaturna?". Real-eel: "This must be the right one, for you pretend ignorance." Me: "If you assist me in my pretense, I will give you a cut of the treasure." Real-eel: "Excellent. Dassiaturna is Tillissa's great-aunt." Me: "Ah. Leaving Tillissa's marriage as the most direct route of assault upon her." Real-eel: "What could be more natural?" Me: "A pie of chili peppers, candied apricots, wolves' brains, and liquid mercury could be more natural... but let us leave that aside. What is her treasure?" Real-eel: "A range of obscure tools for enchantments, which she inherited from some famous ancestor.." Me: "Ah. It has not escaped public notice that my attendance to and indifferent performance in a first-term Enchantment course is another bit of deception. As an immortal, I must be very old; as Glikkonen's grandchild, I must be an expert enchanter, and thus, only satisfied by the most obscure, out-of-date tools." Real-eel: "It could hardly be otherwise." Me: "Well, then: thank you for revealing my most hidden and dreadful plot to me. Let us discuss it no further, in case I let slip some hint of my next wickedness." Real-eel: "Very well then!")

Given all that, I wonder just what Seeks-Justice is actually annoyed at me for?

Dulcanny; or Seeks-Justice [7 Nivvem 4260]

I found Strenata in a market, with a basket of leeks and cucumbers. Her hat said "Dulcanny", presumably after the often-betrayed hapless hero of the short-story series rather than the current High Priest of Pararenenzu in Vheshrame or the secretary to the duke. Or to the purple-shelled Herethroy girl in Spelunking, for that matter.

"Hallo there, Strenata", I said, and settled on a green-striped awning of a green-striped Herethroy fruit vendor.

"I want nothing to do with you. I have nothing to say to you." She proceeded to say a very angry nothing about my behavior and ancestry for some minutes, and many people watched and cheered her on.

"You did, quite certainly, wound Tillissa's marriage more terribly than a blow with a jagged, envenomed copper sword."

"O Strenata, I've heard all the rumors about me. Not a one is true."

"O Zi Ri, I talked to Tillisa, and she's in her tears. And that's no rumor."

"Then they are tears of her own conjuration, for I've done nothing to give her them," I said. I was not being properly opaque of speech, for I was in my fury. In retrospect, that was a sensible thing to do, but for the wrong reason, much like the spell of that name.

"You and Spirshash together gave her them, for he mentioned you as an alternative to staying married to her. And by 'mentioned' I mean that he picked up your name, broke it in half, dipped each half in caustic soda, and crammed it in her ears."

"You can hardly blame me for that. I should be the offended one; after all, it's my name that Spirshash was breaking and dipping in his scramble for a weapon. In any case, he neglected to ask me if I was available as an alternative. If he had, I would have explained that I am not a large Zi Ri; I am plentiful for one Orren, but one is plenty."

She neglected to ask who the one was. "Well, perhaps you should behave more circumspectly around him in the future."

"That I shall not do. We never had fewer than a dozen chaperones the whole time we were together."

"That is not precisely Tillissa's concern," said Strenata.

"Tillissa has neglected to describe her concern to me! She asked me harsh questions and ignored my straightforward answers!"

"You are as straightforward as a serpent in a stream, Sythyry. You are as straightforward as your tail."

I had, of course, wrapped my tail twice around my feet when I sat down. When that was pointed out, a great embarrassment came to me ... should I straighten it out? Leave it coiled? Much giggling came from the audience! In the end I stretched it out, and there was more giggling.

"Well, if she wanted to know things of me, she could at least have waited for the full answers. I may take minutes, but I'm not yet so old that I take years."

Strenata shrugged. "She and Oostmarine were in a pair of wild rushes, all afternoon." She mused a moment, and then exerted that hideously annoying Orren power of easy and balanced judgment. "Well, I daresay you've got a share of the blame there, but not the only share there is." This is why so many judges are Orren.

"Why, thank you for divvying the blame like a Nihondras Day cake, and presenting each of us with our proper slice of it." This was not the wisest thing for me to say.

"Spoken like a true noble," she said, and turned stalked off to the next stand, where she tested a melon for ripeness so fiercely that her clawtip broke the husk and she had to buy it right there, underripe though it was.

It's time for me to swear off Orren forever again.

I think I'll swear off Orren forever once a term, whether I need it or not.

The Assault on Spirshash [8 Nivvem 4260]

Orren rumors -- which I now know to be as reliable and accurate as any bonstable [a subtle and devious monster whose powers include self-delusion -bb] -- placed Spirshash in: Squensqueeg Stream; the Alley of the Hatmakers; the Avenue of Sellers of Personal Matters, presumably getting a divorce; a whorehouse watching a puppet show; my bed, waiting for me; or one or another fishmarket. I was rather surprised to find him in the Alley of the Hatmakers, grimly looking at hats.

"Oh, hallo, Spirshash," I said.

He looked rather like an ulgrane caught creeping into the ducal palace. "What are you doing here, Sythyry?"

"I am questing for answers, O Orren."

He squirmed. "It's hats, not answers, that they sell in this place, Sythyry."

"I shall not be bothering the proprietor for answers."

He looked thoroughly guilty. "Sythyry? I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be seen alone with you just now."

"If we're alone, we'll hardly be seen..." It is very hard to break the habit of talking like that, even when I need very sharply to be both straightforward and pleasant.

"We're hardly alone now." Half a dozen people, mostly Orren, were lurking around watching and listening with such interest that my feathers should have caught fire.

"We are rather bescandalled, aren't we? Perhaps you could tell me why? Since I don't remember us doing the slightest scandalmaking thing for at least three months, and since the scandal has cost me every chance with Strenata." I was fairly sure that at least one Orren was taking notes.

"Oostmarine and Tillissa somehow decided that you and I were behaving improperly together," he said.

"Well, and we weren't. Why didn't you tell them that?"

"Tillissa can be a bit aggressive with her questions on occasion..."

"I had begun to notice that. I was interrogated of late myself."

"... I told them the truth, really," he said.

"Well, then, why were they so upset?"

"They didn't hear the truth. Not 'til this morning," he said.

"How could they not hear it?"

He curled his tail in as much of a knot as an Orren tail can curl. "I didn't mention very loudly when you went home. So they thought I was with you for the whole evening."

I decided it was very important to embarrass him more. "Spirshash? Whatever did you do after I left you alone in the middle of town?"

He started pulling tiny seashells off the hat and cracking them between his clawtips. "I ran into Oonspath -- Strenata's roommate, you know -- and somehow found myself buying him brandy at Darraden's."

"Oonspath can extract money from one in the most remarkable ways, can't he?"

"He's quite good at it. I daresay he's hoping to be the duke's treasurer by the time he's sixty-three."

"And executed seven times in the public square for embezzling by the time he's sixty-six, I daresay." A horrible thought came to me. "So everyone thinks you and I and Oonspath ...?"

His ears were flatter than last year's beer. "I hope not everyone."

"I hope not anyone!"

"Well, then Oonspath and I went to a puppet show. And then I came home. And that's all. Really. Nothing else."

"That sounds rather harmless, if rather cheated. Your wife and husband were upset because...?"

"Well, they don't like me going to puppet shows." If he kept curling his tail up and flattening his ears more each time, they would surely meet, approximately two-thirds up his lungs.

"They seem a bit fussy ... I don't think I should say too much bad about them though." By now seven-and-twelve people were gathered at a moderate distance for their listening, or, in the case of the hatmaker, for the writing of a bill of sale for the hat Spirshash was destroying.

"You and I didn't have a private booth at Darraden's. And we certainly didn't lock the door, or do anything else that might be misinterpreted. And I got the Gnessoise as a present, not to distract them from anything. And I didn't call out 'Oonspath' instead of 'Oostmarine' that night, really!" He was thoroughly in his wild rush.

"Spirshash? I remember the evening well enough; we didn't even see Darraden's. And I don't want to hear about the privacies of you and your husband, really. And you're ruining that hat."

"Hat?" He stopped chattering and looked at the devastation he had made for himself. "Oh, heavens. That was to be a peace offering."

"Well, the last one of Gnessoise seems to have worked rather badly too. Perhaps you should try a different approach altogether? Maybe you could invite them out to something or other? It seems they're more distressed by whatever you do when you're out without them than they are pleased by whever you've brought them."

"Seven staring gods! I should think you're right, O Zi Ri!" He slammed the demolished hat on his head, atop his own, and leapt over a shelf of haberdashery, and raced for home. I must admit I sighed; I find Orren in wild rushes to be terribly cute.

The haberdasher, who was Cani, waddled up to me. "I doubt me that I can catch up with that Orren gentleman any time soon. Would you be so good as to pay for that hat? As it was you who started him breaking it, after all."

This was thoroughly ridiculous and unfair! I talked him into accepting three lozens as a deposit, and gave him Spirshash's address. For some reason, the haberdasher did not accept my offer to carry the bill there. Perhaps he thought I would not be welcome enough to deliver it.

Nihondras Day (part 1) [9 Nivvem 4260]

After the haberdashery disaster, I flew home, over rooftops and through trees. I was rather tired of people watching at me, and grinning. Perhaps I shall go somewhere with more Zi Ri at some point soon.

Dubaille had, of course, bought a Nihondras Day cake, and he did, of course, share it with us -- us being Havune and myself, and Dubaille's children. But a sorry sort of Nihondras Day cake it was. A proper N.D. cake is swollen, bulging outwards before curving inwards and coming to a point, rather like an inverted beet. It is a large and generous cake, bigger than a Rassimel's head. It is fearsomely dense, made with dried apricots and dried cherries and dried prens and dried raisins and candied turnip and candied onion and candied illiocampus and candied apple. It is stuffed with almond paste.

Dubaille's mighty powers of Acquiring the Insufficient had produced a smallish cake, of a size which might have contented Dubaille alone but not even generously for him. It was lopsided, flat on one side and somewhat caved-in on the other; before the natural disasters, it might have been conical -- cooked in the mold for a springtime-cake I suppose. It was fearsomely dense, but more with bran and oats than dried fruit; and it lacked cherries, onions, illiocampus, and apple, and in their place had candied radish and dried melon. There was almond paste, but smeared casually on the outside, not as a stuffing.

Dubaille complained about his wife and his children. Earlier I conjectured that he negotiated with the Lady Quissenden to see his children rather than get a stipend. In fact, he had negotiated for both, but sneakily. Dawdry, who is Dubaille's older son, is the Baron of Noultevviam. Six times a year, including Nihondras Day, he recieves the rents for Noultevviam. Dubaille had written to the mayor of Noultevviam and told her to send the rents to Dawdry at our home. But they did not come there by dawn. At noon or so he asked around. Lady Quissenden had also written to the mayor of Noultevviam, and evidently bribed her to send the rents to Dawdry at her home.

Which I think was mean-spirited of her, as she scarcely needs money, and it would be particularly convenient if Dubaille were able to pay rent. I do doubt that Lady Quissenden is quite the ulgrane that Dubaille says; but perhaps the fault is not entirely his.

Nihondras Day (part 2)

Fortunately I have other Rassimel friends. Thery was not a bit unhappy to open the window for me, when I clattered my claws on it. She and Yarwain had had their cake earlier in the day, with Iska -- who had none of her own, not because she is not Rassimel, but because she is very foreign and her people do not even celebrate the invention of the oven at all. How odd. In any case, Thery and Yarwain had bought a proper N.D. cake, which meant that there was plenty left.

They also had a great deal of sympathy for me about the whole matter of Spirshash and Strenata and all. Though they laughed greatly about the puppet shows. I pried; I interrogated; I demanded!

It seems that, in certain basements, there are puppet shows, but not the sort that appear on city streets. These basement puppet shows are, not to put too fine a point on it, pornographic. The conjecture is that these shows, not the street performances, are the ones that Tillissa and Oostmarine despise Spirshash watching. Especially with Oonspath or me.

And Yarwain reminded me that he and Iska and I have to finish up that spraddled analysis of Durnokk's glass collection, and in not too long. The end of the term is approaching.

Nihondras Day (part 3)

When I returned home, we had had a Changing of the Rassimel. Dubaille and his children were gone, presumably on a quest for money. Tethezai was there, with Dustweed. And with a largish segment of her family's N.D. cake. Tethezai's cook does not simply make a proper cake; they make an extraordinary one. It must have been the size of a pumpkin when it was whole; it was solid yet not dense; it contained all the obligatory items, and dried sparrowberries, and candied shrimps, and butternuts, and candied petals of a species I did not recognize. It was stuffed with almond paste and sweet cheese.

Part of the extraordinariness was candied shrimps. Now, this was surely an extravagance with its teeth and claws to it: Dustweed, being Herethroy, cannot digest meat. Tethezai was fuming that never before was the family's N.D. cake graced with any meat -- after all, the whole point is that the cake be shared with everyone, even Herethroy.

Dustweed was not offended, or perhaps was very used to being offended; zie had simply picked the shrimps out and wrapped them in a napkin, and was feeding them to Tethezai on the bed when I got home. Dangerously cute, they are.

The Useful Advice from Home [9 Nivvem 4260]

After four more slices of Nihondras Day Cake, thanks to Floooosh in the Bakery of Transcendent Doom -- that's not precisely what the sign says, but after the poptaloops and the cake I know it to be true -- I think I shall vow never to have Nihondras Day Cake again.

My ~mother~'s letter expresses some limited pleasure that I am finally taking Enchantment, and demands with considerable force that I take three or preferably four classes in applied magic next term. If I take four, zie will arrange my allowance through the Bank of Teleporting Hexagons rather than through Hezimikkinen. Banks are very mild-tempered, compared with siblings; I daresay whatever qualms they do have (on any sort of topic) are easily satisfied by a few lozens.

I suppose that the only thing worse than being bribed is not being worth bribing.

I obviously can't take four courses in practical magic; I have only so many cley. Second-term enchantment is clear enough, and not nearly as tedious as it sounds even if I will have to get to the workshop by dawn every day for a month or two. Perhaps Illusidor would be fun. Magic Theory was mentioned by name in ~mother~'s letter. I wonder if a Historical Survey of Magic would count? Or a course in Notable Magical Catastrophes?

Also zie blessed me with zir advice on Dubaille and Lady Quissenden. Zie recommends that I cultivate all noble contacts, as an assistance to Hezimikkinen if nothing else. (Not my favorite task, especially in this case; I count this as another strong argument in favor of taking the bribe.) Zie recommends that I supply the replacement teapot. Zie recommends that I befriend the children, on the grounds that (1) they are easily influenced in such a time of distress, and (2) will eventually be in a position to do favors, even if the parents are wholly useless and unpleasant.

Zie has clearly decided that I am going to become a spare Hezimikkinen, mighty in magic and politics by the time I am three hundred. (As I understand the history, Hezimikkinen's single greatest advantage is the fact that zie is Glikkonen's first grandchild. I am the third, which is not much help.)

I suppose I should decide, once and for all, what I will do with myself for, well, forever. I expect I shall do this once a year whether I need it or not, just after I swear off Orren and Nihondras Day cake. Actually making that be part of my Nihondras Day celebrations will give me a good chance to remember it, if nothing else.

The Orren that Creeps in the Night [9 Nivvem 4260]

There was a scratching at my window, very late last night, and a hissing Orren voice whispering "Sythyry! Sythyry!"

So of course Tethezai untwined Dustweed's left arm from her shoulder and zir other left arm from her rump and zir right arm from under zir neck and zir other right arm from her bosom, and hopped up to look out the little chunks of cut-up bottle that give us daylight in cold times. Cold daytimes, anyways.

Outside was Spirshash, blinking in. He squeaked. "Tethezai! What are you doing in Sythyry's bedroom?"

"Zie's hired me as the new doorman," said Tethezai in a very reasonable tone of voice. "Shall I announce you, then?"

By this time Dustweed and I were awake, and snickering.

"Is anyone else in there?" he asked.

"There is Dustweed, currently working as the valet; there is Hezimikkinen, currently working as the butler; there is Shaliun, currently working as the sous-chef; and of course Accanax, God of Destruction, will be around shortly to do the sweeping-up. Which is to say, nobody but the hired help.

"Shaliun ... the Rassimel girl from Advanced Linguistics? She's involved with you too?"

"Oh, heavens no, not her. I never date within my own species, Spirshash. The ancient magic theorist that all the other Shaliuns named after."

"But she's dead..."

"Do you really think that would stop Sythyry?"

At this point, politeness (or perhaps common sense) demanded that I fly over and nip her ear. "Do be quiet, Tethezai, or I shall have you demoted to second undergardener. Spirshash, whatever are you doing coming around at this hour?"

"Paying you back. Can I come in?"

"Surely, surely, you know where the door is. I lent you money?" I have absolutely no head for accounting after midnight.

"You paid three lozens for that hat I destroyed," he said when he had come in.

"Oh! Truly, I would like those back, but I wasn't planning to spend them before daybreak anyways. Tethezai can just wait for her wages."

"That I shan't! I'll be stealing from your cabinets shortly!", she said. (I had invited him into the bedroom. It seemed sensible, even to a sleey lizard's mind, to have witnesses and chaperones. Not that Tethezai and Dustweed would be anyone's first and second choice for chaperone -- well, not anybody innocent's choice -- but waking Havune seemed unkind and I would just as soon not have Dubaille witness anything of note.)

He blinked. "Well, I was feeling tremendously guilty for making you pay."

"That's quite kind of you, but it's really not that urgent.

"Tillissa and Oostmarine have forbidden me to speak to you again," he said.

"Is that why you are sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to speak to me?"

"I couldn't leave you un-paid-back!" he wailed.

"Is that your true and honest reason?" I was rather expecting some sort of declaration of love, for me or for Oonway, or perhaps even for Strenata or someone I couldn't imagine.

"You might have thought I had asked them to forbid me, as a way to not pay you back!"

"You're not notably parsimonious. And we do know a few of the same people. I daresay that a few lozens placed into Tethezai's hand, or Havune's, might well have made their way back to me not greatly diminished."

His ears went flat. "I never thought of that."

"You've been in a wild rush all day, haven't you, Spirshash?" said Dustweed.

"A bit of one, perhaps."

Zie patted his head. "We'll, you're all paid up now. Go home, snuggle with your husband and wife, and act reasonable."

When he was gone, zie asked me, "Sythyry, why is it you like Orren? Or even stand them?"

Well, their wild rushes are cute. Dangerously cute.

Where all my cley has gone [10 Nivvem 4260]

Well, not strictly all of it, but most.

It is a small pitcher of blue glass, with a curling shrimp for a handle. When I say, "pthauppa, pour forth!" it creates some fourteen gallons of clean, bland water. Very real water. Once a day.

My first formal enchantment. And about as puny as an enchantment can get... except of course for it being real water instead of temporary one-hour water. Though real is easier for a Zi Ri.

We need not think about my grandparent's reaction, nor his first enchantment... for that matter, I don't know what zir first enchantment was. I'm sure it's in history books.

This one won't be.

It will however save me trips to the public fountain, and concomitant mockery.

Spraddling [10 Nivvem 4260]

I spraddled with Yarwain and Iska most of last night.

I hope that sounds worse than it actually is. We covered the floor of Yarwain's study with many many leaves, upon which are painted little wiggles which whoever painted them thought represented important things in the collection. My own wiggles are perfectly understandable, except to Yarwain. Yarwain's are incomprehensible to everyone except for himself and Iska. Iska's are not simply comprehensible, they are pretty, curse her.

[A couple of very technical paragraphs omitted, mainly because Bard couldn't make much sense of them. -bb]

So, Durnokk's collection is actually not that much inferior to Ilpomino Pandarff's collection of metal boxes, which we spraddled in class. Pandarff has, on the whole, the better pieces; Durnokk has a greater variety, a greater intensity, and a greater depth of character, and so on.

This is very silly, considering that Durnokk is Gormoror and Pandarff is Rassimel -- how could a Gormoror possibly collect things as well as a Rassimel? But we went through and checked everything. Iska found five minor mistakes, two of them mine, three of them Yarwain's, curse her.

So much for spraddling. Now I shall sleep, and, when I wake, see whether or not Strenata cancels our assignation for later today.

After Spelunking [11 Nivvem 4260]

Last week, before many events came, Seeks-Justice (I think it was) Strenata and I had agreed to share a meal and an attendance of a singing by a student group together, alone, after our final spelunking class. (To which our grades were, of course, "Deeply Studied", because the instructor prefers that silly little joke to the slightly inferior "Dutifully Attended".)

I was rather nervous.

Preparations for a Date

I left my new glass pitcher's force unused, in case I needed to pour fourteen gallons of water upon Seeks-Revenge as a distraction for making my escape.

This is silly, because I have respectably much cley left at eveningtime now that I'm not using most of it making the pitcher every dawntime.

Thery recommended I bring flowers. Thery has never dated an Orren of course. I cast around and found Tethezai instead. smirk. From her advice I brought a small silk beanbag fish, understuffed for extra wiggliness, dyed alarming purples and magentas, with glittering eyes.

And money, of course. I tried to retrieve the sixteen lozens Dubaille owes me, but there was little success there. Indeed, so woeful was his story and so storied was his woe that I nearly lent him six more lozens, except, fortunately, I didn't have them. Not out of pity. Out of a need to shut him up.

After the Spelunking

And after class Strenata came up to me and introduced herself. "Hi there, small blue cave lizard! I'm Seeks-Slithering-Songs Strenata. Let's eat!" So I painted that name on a bit of shiny paper that I happen to have brought ... um ... from a little roll of it that I happen to have been carrying since I figured her name trick out... and stuck it in her hatband, and we were off.

Cafe du Fronde was its usual busy self, so she sat on a stool at the back, with enough of a shelf near it to hold up her grilled shrimps and chub-beetles and a little bowl of pomegranite cream. I perched on her shoulder, and assaulted a quarter-order of shrimps with raisins and no offirrah. (The Cani waiter does complain about having to open the large barrel of offirrah, whenever I show up.)

And we talked about nothing in particular: how odd it was for a Gormoror's collection to be at all as good as Pandarff's; how the world would be very different (or not) if the World Tree had intensely luminous fruit instead of a sun rolling around the sky; whether a nendrai could beat a chromodon in a fair fight; how paper is made; how wonderful paper made from Dubaille's fur would be for letters of debt.

And when she stood up, the beanbag fish slithered off her hat. She caught it in mid-air, and giggled, and hugged me in the middle of Cafe du Fronde. And played hackeysack with it the whole way to Sprowlween Hall.

The performance, by The Monstersingers, was suitably silly. Bubbly parodies of traditional religious and dramatic songs, weaving current events and other amusements into it. Since I am one of the current events and amusements, I was a bit nervous ... but I escaped with but a single verse. There was a song about Spirshash -- Firffaff in the song -- a married Orren man with husband and wife, but having seven very clumsy secret affairs, one each with the other seven species. When the Sleeth came bounding and howling through their bedroom window, Spillissa and Spoogemarine finally noticed...

And Seeks-Slithering-Songs Strenata was nice enough to put her hand on my flank and not laugh very much while they did that one.

And that was that. Absolutely the least dramatic date I've had with Strenata. Perhaps the least dramatic date I've ever had, since I do seem to date Orren.

The Unpleasant Musing

Strenata has a bit of a crude accent. It's not too bad, not like Iska's. For example, when she says in Vheshrame, it sounds like in Veshrame, the way anybody would say it except at court or something. But when she says to Vheshrame, she says to Veshrame like some very rural person or Gormoror or like that, not toov Heshrame the way any reasonable person would.

I suppose I shouldn't let this bother me, but it does.

A Slightly Fretful Morning [12 Nivvem 4260]

Havune was deeply in his fury this morning. Dubaille zipped out of the apartment, slightly late for his second day of heavy labors as a tooth-cleaner's assistant. As part of leaving, Dubaille did not make the bed. Dubaille knocked against Havune's table and knocked the water-pitcher over and thereby drenched ... um ... lightly sprinkled the rug, since the water-pitcher was nearly empty. Dubaille may or may not have taken a three-lozen piece from Havune's purse -- Havune is very precise with his possessions, but not with his finances; he does not remember spending it, but is not certain that he did not; he is accordingly giving Dubaille one and a half lozens' worth of anger. And Dubaille kicked Havune's boots, knocking one of them onto the dampened rug, from which it will have a dark wet spot on the side for a good, oh, two hours more.

Dustweed and I produced such sympathy as we were able. Which was only so much. In our room, such iniquities as Dubaille's happen every hour, or every third of an hour now that Tethezai practically lives there. Except for the theft: when we steal from each other, it is definite and clear and unambiguous, and accompanied by the writing of a name, a date, and an amount of amber upon the larger half of a nutshell. And, so far, it has always been paid back within four days, and the nutshell cast into my bed and burnt.

This is not to say that Tethezai is clumsy or messy. I don't think she could room with Havune either, but she is, on the whole, neater than Dustweed or I -- except with charged paintbrushes! -- but the room is barely big enough for one full-sized person and me, and really not big enough for two.

The charged paintbrushes are more devastating than one might think. Tethezai has been painting Dustweed frequently, and is known for making wild gestures in moments of passionate emotion ... and passionate emotion is common enough when she beholds her true love, naked and beautiful (or, at least, less hideous than usual), and is forbidden by the drying of paint to so much as kiss her for an hour.

So Dustweed is a truly astounding Herethroy today, all covered with swirls in seventeen flavors of purple, with glass mock-gemstones glued on here and there. Somehow Tethezai has made zir look almost symmetrical, almost pretty.

For my part, I am not quite so thoroughly painted. I did get speckled and spotted with four of Tethezai's purples: three from a waving paintbrush, and the fourth from a thrown paintbrush. For safety, I should learn to be more restrained when stating the evident truth of Dustweed's appearance, or learn more Hebrador and get a spell for turning aside wooden missiles.

Havune was in such his fury that Anoof smelled him from across town -- which is not actually physically possible, but Cani empathy and loyalty transcends the physically possible. (I reject as tedious the alternate explanation that they had agreed two days ago that Anoof would stop over for lunch and studies.)

Anoof was sufficiently pleasant, and Dustweed was sufficiently untouchable, that Tethezai embraced him closely and, if Dustweed and Havune hadn't scowled in unison, might well have stripped him for his painting on the spot. (I reject as tedious the alternate explanation that the families of Anoof and Tethezai have some close connection, and that Anoof and Tethezai all but grew up together. Though it does occur to me to wonder if the two of them ever have been lovers -- and if Havune knows that his husband-to-be is possibly transaffectionate.)

Of course, I'm a fine one to talk about being transaffectionate, with all these Orren about.

I rather wish there were some other Zi Ri around besides my half-sibling. I don't even know if there are any other Zi Ri within three years of my own age, anywhere.

Seeks-Square-Crabs [12 Nivvem 4260]

I begin to think that swearing off Orren once a year, or once a term even, is not quite enough. I think I should swear off Orren once a week. That might suffice.

Seeks-Slithering-Songs Strenata and I had arranged a date for this afternoon: listening to some end-of-term recitals from the advanced music students; dinner at Ghu Navage Ghu; parting ways for the evening because it is end of term and we both have a great deal to do.

I waited outside the Hall of Crypts (the recital rooms are in the crypts, presumably for better quiet. These are not burial crypts; those are elsewhere.) for a good hour and then some, enough time for the sun's flame to wane appreciably. And then I flew back home.

And when I got there, Strenata had sent me a note -- she was going to spend the afternoon hunting for square-crabs with Oonspath.

It was quite an excited note. Square-crabs are only tasty for a few days a year, and she had missed the last year because she was studying the theory of differences, and she had missed the year before because she had broken five of her ribs.

A bit of further prying (inspired by how water-stained the leaf was) revealed that she had written the note from the riverbank, about halfway through my waiting. Presumably she remembered our date, but did not think that I might have been trying to meet her there, so sent the note to my home, far too late.

In any case, Dubaille was not the most sympathetic of listeners. When I expressed complaint about Strenata's neglect, he gave me a vast stinking torrent of abuse, vileness, adultery, oppobrium, torment, and occasional bits of neglect from Lady Quissenden.

I escaped from the flood; I flew out the window! (He had the window open in wintertime for some reason concerning the pile of burnt baked worms in the kitchen, I presume.)

And so I flew to Flooosh's bakery, for complains and poptaloops. She was sweet and sympathetic, and invited me to come to her family's village for the week between terms.

A whole village of Orren.

I am once again doomed.

Corpador time

My examination in Corpador started yesterday, with a sixteen-page booklet on ducks, and a four-page booklet on Cloak of Another God.

For those of you who are monsters, or who are not familiar with sophisticated magic, Cloak of Another God is a rather amazing spell: it allows a prime to take the shape of any of the other prime species. The transformation includes all physical aspects of the new shape -- those in Cani form get very keen noses (but, unfortunately, do not truly understand the details of what they are smelling); those in Orren shape transform to small otters in water; those in Zi Ri form can fly with wings. It does not include magical aspects of the new shape -- those in Zi Ri form cannot levitate or breathe fire, for one thing. This is an amazing spell in two ways: (1) it is five or ten complexity lower than a spell to transform one to a nonprime species; (2) it allows seven choices of new shape (not counting one's own shape), rather than only one. It relies very heavily on the special status of primes.

I refuse to describe ducks. I was bored with ducks on page three, and I remain bored with ducks after the whole exam.

(But I do want to get Cloak of Another God, if I can arrange it somehow. Once I'm good enough to cast it, I suppose, will do.)

And here are the questions:

1. What is the complexity of the easiest possible Ruloc Corpador spell, using no other Arts, to remove the feathers from a duck? What are the practical dimensions (duration, range, other requirements) of such a spell?
2. And if the spell were using Mutoc instead of Ruloc?
3. Could it be done at all with Healoc? If so, how? If not, why not?
4. Estimate the complexity of a spell to make a feather as strong as so much iron. (For the purpose of this exercise only, assume that iron is seven-times-twelve times as strong as a feather.)
5. Is there any lower-complexity way for a non-Orren prime to take Orren shape than by use of the spell Cloak of Another God?
6. If one were inventing a spell for a non-Orren prime to take Orren shape of the same complexity as Cloak of Another God, list three possible advantages it could have over Cloak of Another God.
7. (Extra credit): Under what circumstances could one have a spell that transformed one particular species of prime into another without using Mutoc? What other Nouns would be required? Would this spell work on all primes of the first species? Estimate the complexity.

I have submitted my answers, and so discussion is permitted. Though I have not the slightest idea about the extra credit question.

The Grades [13 Nivvem 4260]

Some grades have begun to appear.

Deepening of Understanding: "Notably Experienced". The class exercises got considerably lighter towards the end of the semester, so I presume that they know about the explosions with Spirshash.

Corpador: "Finely Reasoned". This pleases me! I had not expected to be marked any better than "Adequately Reasoned", or perhaps "Diligently Labored". Evidently nobody successfully figured out the trick of changing one prime to another without Mutoc -- the hint is that it can be done only to two species, and not to all members of those. There are many puzzled Corpador students .... but I, at least, am a puzzled Corpador student with a dignified grade.

Not so in Enchantment, in which my grade was simply "Casually Labored." This is unsuitable and inappropriate! I was in no way casual about Enchantment! I attended every lecture but three; I did every theoretical exercise; I completed my fourteen-gallon pitcher! Perhaps it was unwise to carefully skip the two lectures about my inventive and strategically-created grandparent -- but I am sure I would have melted from all the stares from everyone in the classroom. It was a matter of safety! Also I worry that I was expected to have some special secrets or talent in Enchantment denied to all but Glikkonen's descendants, but I do not -- what zie knows is either published quite broadly, or concealed in zir own notebooks. Or, perhaps, is imparted to zir descendants on their month-of-month-of-month's birthday. [81 World Tree years, about fifty terrestrial. -bb]

Spelunking: "Deeply Studied". Everyone who attended all the expeditions was given "Deeply Studied."

Famous Collections: "Tolerably Considered". This stings a bit. Yarwain and I have, on the whole, taken the class together: the three reports we did jointly, and the exercise in spraddling we did together with Iska. (Iska, by the way, otherwise worked alone, and was given "Supremely Reasoned".) Yarwain was given "Finely Considered". For exactly the same work that I did -- exactly the same, I tell you, in the sense that everything had both our names on it. And I should think that in general Yarwain and I did equal parts of it, save that I was the one to write it up, for more people can read my writing than his.

But of course, nobody but a Rassimel could really appreciate the detailed study of collections. This is evident from the list on Prof. Yrrkyrr's door -- an Orren gets "Adequately Understood", another Orren gets "Tolerably Considered"; a Cani gets "Generally Suitable"; and so on -- nothing better. Yet Rassimel get "Finely Considered", "Excellently Stated", "Deeply Reasoned", and such as that -- barring Iska, who got "Supremely Reasoned", and deserved it, curse her.

It was a fun class, but this has a sting to it, armed with bitter poison.

I'm sure that there are end-of-term festivities of some sort, but I shan't go to them for a moment or two. Instead, perhaps, I shall ask Dustweed what happened when zie took a course from a Herethroy.

Closing the Term [17 Nivvem 4260]

Tomorrow, I set off with Floooosh on the Grand Expedition to the Very Ends of Vheshrame. Well, two hours up the river at least.

Today, I decided to pay closing-the-term visits to several friends. Not that I'll be away for more than a week, which might get cut to eight days if I want to get back in time for the First Day celebrations in Vheshrame.

Thery and Yarwain

Thery and Yarwain were evidently busy with a personal private project. I was glad that their bed was not up against my bedroom wall anymore. I was not so glad that I had flown up to knock on their window, but that is my fault and not theirs. They were sufficiently busy so that they did not notice me, I think, and I fled quickly.

Strenata

From Seeks-Square-Crabs Strenata I extracted a light apology, a medium-weight kiss, and a small but leaden-heavy poem of her recent composition, starting with "From whence the graveyard's sickening stroke arrives / Beware its sickening source in noble lives." and not improving one bit from there. She seemed exceedingly pleased with it. I worked as hard as ever I did during the term, and found this and that to say well of it. Strenata was not assigning formal grades, but the informal one seemed to be, "Pleasantly Stated."

We made tentative plans to enjoy each others' company on First Day. She was hardly distressed by the thought of a Sythyry-less week -- unfortunate but true -- though I should think that any Orren is well used to the concept of having a friend zip away to a riverside village for a lazy week.

She herself is not going away -- not hardly! -- and not being idle either. She has engaged with a dancing troupe for a pair of First Day performances. She is working afternoons in a scarfseller's shop for a bit of extra money during the term. She will read The Cheeses of Oorah Thrassen. She will sell bound contraceptive spells. She will practice her swordplay!

I don't imagine anyone else could fit in that sort of schedule, not even someone Zi Ri sized.

I daresay she'll even do half of that.

Spirshash

Tillissa and Oostmarine had forbidden Spirshash to ever speak with me again, so I was somewhat nervous going to see him. I should not have been nervous; after all, I had recently blinked, and thereby missed a good deal.

When I got there, Oostmarine was in the middle of moving out. He had divorced Tillissa. All discord concerning me was ancient -- obsolete -- more distant than the Cyarr Wars -- last week's news!

Spirshash was so distressed that he was in three places at once, and his tail curled into a spiral. [just a figure of speech. -bb] I got little specific information, and much fretting.

The Specifics:

1. The Howling Heads: Tillissa painted some very hideous howling Rassimel heads in the living room. She agreed long since to paint over them, which, last week, she did -- and then she painted some more in the bedroom. The new ones display more mastery of the technique, which makes them all the more hideous.
2. The Mocking Songs: Orren street urchins have been singing mocking songs at Oostmarine (and Spirshash, and Tillissa, and Oonspath, and they would sing them at me except that I have been flying at rooflevel because I don't like to be mocking-sung-at.) According to Oostmarine, this is entirely Tillissa's fault. According to Oostmarine, she should therefore coddle him! Not to simply insist that he buck up!
3. The Spoiled Eels:At dinner last night was Tillissa's turn to cook. Spirshash bought some blackscale eels early in the day -- butchered and gutted and scaled blackscale eels, ready for their broiling or some such. Tillissa was under the impression that they were live eels. Spirshash does not understand this mistake, for live eels do not come wrapped in leaves. In any event, Tillissa went to look for them in the live-tank, and decided that Oostmarine had eaten them all, and gave him his severe talking-to about the matter. The truth was discovered -- and the other truth that Tillissa had neglected to treat the eels properly. (It is midwinter. Treating them properly can be as simple as setting them outside the window.) They were a bit off, after sitting all day by the fire. Tillissa made Oostmarine try to spont Fresh Meat on them. Never force someone to improvise a spell when you have just upset them considerably by an unjust severe talking-to! The spell simply ungutted the eels (regutted them? They got their entrails back, in any case), which was no improvement at all. He refused to try again, and sulked into the bedroom under the howling heads. Tillissa grabbed Spirshash and went out to dinner without him. When they got back, he divorced her on the spot.

(There is more, but I don't know what it is.)

So, Spirshash is in a dreadful state. He is still married to both Oostmarine and Tillissa; now he must choose what to do about that. He could stay married to both, but that would surely leave each of them angry with him for refusing his support to their side. He could stay with one, or stay with the other; in either case he definitively loses a dear one. He could divorce them both, which I think he should do, for they haven't been very good for him these last months, and Orren above all people should be expert at changing personal relationships.

And I don't think he should divorce them both because I want him, for I don't. I would rather have him get his heart all peaceful before I so much as sit on his shoulder.

Real-Eel

Real-Eel has not had any great troubles with eels of late. She introduced me to her new boyfriend, who is an Orren man of moderate station and considerable height named Vingi. Vingi is from Yistreia, but I didn't hear which city -- somewhere close to the trunk in any case. We drank shrimp consomme and chatted about every social thing and were variously pleasant for two-thirds of an hour, and then I excused myself. I was worried about Spirshash.

Spirshash Again

Back at the home of the former Orren trio, Tillissa had locked herself in the bedroom, under the howling Rassimels, and was howling with them. Since she is not painted, she was making a good deal of noise. Spirshash was doing his very best to comfort her through the door, though it seemed an impossible task, and a thankless and worthless one to me.

Unfortunately, that meant that I could not speak with him at any length before I head off to Flooosh's tomorrow.

Dustweed, Tethezai, Havune

Back at home, we made a simple careful dinner (steamed chub beetles with sweet-and-spicy sauce, noodles, leftover takeout nut stew, baked turnips with butter). Dubaille tried to invite himself, but Tethezai glanced at him and sent him fleeing with his fur on fire, or as good as that for social purposes at least. We discussed what Spirshash should do at length.

Tethezai of course said it was Spirshash' own fault for marrying within his species. Dustweed blushed her antennae into spirals. Havune merely asked Tethezai how she thought that the mortal prime species should maintain themselves, if everyone was to be as entirely transaffectionate as she says. She admitted that this is a detail that remains to be worked out, but that the answer surely involves refrigeration. After such an answer, no further discussion was possible.

I do not understand artistic folk. Strenata, Tillissa, and Tethezai all in one day is rather a lot.

Spirshash Again

And after dinner Spirshash did come by briefly. He had calmed Tillissa down to a great degree, but she had gone to bed early, exhausted from her crying. He went to check on Oostmarine, but Oostmarine had last been seen buying and drinking rosemary vodka with a local Orren not noted for great chastity. So he stopped by our apartment, and chatted with Havune and me, and we reassured him considerably. And I conscripted Havune to keep an eye on him while I am away.

The way to Threeze

One goes from Vheshrame to Threeze upriver along the Alamme, several miles: two hours' journey by Orren-foot or Zi Ri wings if one has little luggage, but four by mule or nearly two by horse if one is bringing many leftover pastries and assorted city treats for one's (Flooosh's) family whom one has not seen in a week. Or, if one travels with an Orren who goes that way often, one may take Whelkie' riverboat, which makes the trip in three hours, and is eccentric, and is cheaper than a horse rented for a week, and more pleasant than a hundred scaly-backed mules. Or even than one.

(I do wonder how it is that Strenata affords half a horse.)

Or so we thought, Floooosh and I, as we quite innocently and naively got into a sort of catamaran supported by six large empty esblembei nut shells, long empty and the meat carefully eaten out in six Herethroy village feasts of bygone days. The Queen of Every Whelk has sails, but only for emergencies; Whelkie bought an old, broken, unstable sky-dinghie, Wastrel Heart, which neither sane prime nor Orren would ride high, and hooked it to the catamaran to tow it up the Alamme.

Sailing on the water is a sweet lazy way to go. Nothing as fearsome as sailing in the sky, where a cloudthief might fly invisibly up and swat your boat to land in a splintersome heap in some wicked wilderness, or the ulgrane who stalked so superciliously through the streets of Vheshrame last month might greet you with hail and lightning and high informal tolls. If you fall from the side of a waterboat, as nobody did, someone will scoop you up in a net, and no harm done. Water elementals are gentle sleepy things, or so I hear. Rivers hold few dangers or troubles...

Which of course is why one of the esblembei shells thumped hard against a submerged log, and cracked, and let in a quantity of water, just after we passed Guelmopp. Queen of Every Whelk wobbled and tilted; Floosh had to scramble to keep her luggage on the tipping tilting deck; and Whelkie thrashed Wastrel Heart with a goldenrod flail until she tugged Queen of Every Whelk to the bank.

Well, Whelkie complained and swore and cursed, and I wished I knew more Aquador, and Flooosh jumped into the Alamme and swam back to Guelmopp, and brought us back a dozen sleek strong swimmy Orren and four mules, a quantity of rope, and Whelkie's wife the tree-mage. They hoisted the nut out of the river so it would drain, and healed its crack, and plomped it back in the river, and no harm done.

Except that our three-hour trip had become six, and we had not avoided the mules after all.

[the real-life story]

[OOC: This one is from RL. on the way to Anthrocon this weekend, and I had a flat tire, three blocks away from a Goodyear Tire store that stocks the specialty tires that Arctos (her Prius) requires, and charges less than the dealer does to boot. Very easy automotive trouble!]

[And, later, from Welsh camp... I wrote that story and all the preceding text on the plane. When the plane landed, I got on the bus to Kenosha ... which promptly started leaking oil. It stopped at a mcdonalds, puddling oil, and waited... the next bus, an hour later, came and picked us up ... and also started leaking oil. Not as fast though, and I did get to Kenosha.]

Dancing with Riverred [21 Nivvem 4260]

In Threeze, two or four times a week, there is a dance. Everyone from Threeze will come to it; and people from the towns next to it up and down the Alamme. I suppose that some Herethroy from inland towns could come, but I can't think why they would want to.

And when I say "everyone", I mean everyone. Children -- babies, even, which means that Flooosh is carrying her niece in her arms as she dances with a husband. Perpendra, the oldest one here, also dances, with a cane in either hand; she took a fall when a seven-year-old stepped backwards eight steps instead of two and knocked it. And even Riverred.

Riverred is about my age, and does not lack for maturity or common sense by Orren standards. But she is blind. Her head is a bit dented-in around the eyes, where a Rassimel would have a mask; and blood trickles from the corner of her left eye as slow tears. That is where her name comes from, and naming is all the good she gets from her eyes. It doesn't look like an injury. She must have been this way a long while, for everyone is used to her and helps her somewhat.

This does not, however, make for good dancing. These people must have danced a hundred times as much as I have, yet they cannot keep in their set. They cannot do a proper rights-and-lefts, since Floosh needs at least one hand for her niece. They cannot do a full hay, for Riverred will head off perpendicular to the way she should go and someone must catch her. They cannot even do the chorus, for someone will knock Perpendra over.

And they seem worried about me! At first nobody would dance with me -- manners are that the guest is to be called for by someone who is no guest -- I had to pick an Orren at random and ask to dance with her. Hmph! I may be no bigger than a child, but I am trained in dancing, a full term at Vheshrame, and I know where my tail is.

Well, they seem to have fun with it anyways. I suppose that it is real folk dancing, the way that country folk dance, the way it was before the Rassimel got their minds on it and made it all clever and formal and precise and intricate. It's quite some ways from Flirtatious Dancing class in any case...

And that's another thing. There's very little flirting. Floosh only flirts with her spouses. The adolescents flirt a bit with each other, but very shyly by the standards of the class -- not a one would get a grade that marked the least bit of enthusiasm. I don't think I had three partners the entire evening who so much as looked me in the eye, and that's barely flirting at all, it's just showing a bit of interest in your partner. This is quite the conservative village!

But I daresay I can go without romance from Orren for a week; it's down to seven days now. That means no explosions, at least, which I daresay shall be its own kind of vacation.

Lazy Days on the Alamme [22 Nivvem 4260]

I haven't felt like writing so much the last few days: somehow it is easier to write at school, when I have all sorts of things that I can do and that I must do and that I must do very very soon or I am in trouble, than it is to write in a lazy Orren riverbum village where I can take the journal up on the roof and stare at Orren fishing in the icy waters or carving logs into fantastical distorted laughing faces off by the fores and think about writing for hours on end and not write a single squeaky word.

This is a very lazy vacation for me. It is not so lazy for Flooosh -- since she is the responsible one in the family and brings in most of the actual amber, she is the one who must bake bread and mend furniture and decide that the family can buy another little sailboat when she comes out here. Oh, and give some of the children extra lessons in writing, though Flounderbouncer does most of that. I do not quite see why Floosh puts up with it.

In any case, despite any reports you may have invented, I have done no seduction of Orren so far, and do not expect to seduce any. The only one here I think I might even have a chance with is Iska ... oh, I forgot to mention, Iska is Floosh's other winter break charity project; she came out here with us. In any case, the Orren here do not flirt particularly much with me. Flounderbouncer and Riverred perhaps, Diffitt and Poolie and Chompramirthian maybe a touch, but I think it's the sort of very frivolous and unserious and annoying flirting that acknowledges that it is possible to have some sort of involvement, but it simply won't ever happen. Hmph.

Riverred probably just feels like she is flirting with me because she has to touch me more often than most people would, to tell where I am. Or when I lead her down the ramp from the upper to the middle house. The ramp is plenty wide, a good six feet wide, but it is at least fifteen feet in the air at the lowest spot and twenty at the highest. It has no railings. If you fall off of it, you will land in the water ... which is safe for most Orren most of the year. During the winter, the water is a bit on the hard side -- and the pointy side with fragments of broken frozen icicles.

I asked Floosh why Riverred lives in the upper house, where she has to dare the ramp twice or thrice a day. "She's a willful girl, that one. She won't let blindness keep her from anything -- not fishing, not dancing, not the upper house. We built a railing on the ramp when she moved up there, but she kicked it down and wouldn't let us build it up again."

Flounderbouncer really isn't flirting with me. For the first two days I was here, so was his very serious girlfriend Tliskit, here for her first visit to his family, and they were spending lots of time chatting up the parents. Floosh was very concerned to get home in time to meet her, and wanted to make sure Iska and I did as well. Well, I met her; she seems quiet and shy and sort of blandly pleasant. Flounderbouncer is a bone-mage's assistant somewhere bigger nearby; Tlisket is in training as a guild healer. I'm not surprised she was nervous -- she must come from a relatively quiet middle-class town Orren family, and it's a bit of a wildness to get your surrounding by all leaping bounding scrambling lazy Orren riverbums in their dozens.

Anyways, after Tliskit went back home, Flounderbouncer stayed a couple days more, and seemed quite full in his enthusiasm that everything had gone well enough or at least not so terribly. So he was smiling at everyone, and hugging everyone but Iska. (I think that I am starting to figure out the conservativeness of Threeze. Orren can be with Orren, or some Orren at least. Anyone can be with a Zi Ri of course, same as anywhere (but, alas, nobody will here and now.) And ... that's all. Nobody but Floosh and me would so much as touch Iska's tailtip, and in the city there's nothing much to that at all.

[Scribbled in somewhat later] I'm wrong there. In the Academy, and moreso in the court, there's nothing much to that at all. Hinting at transaffection, or doing it, is rather an upper-class thing. The guildsfolk and that class are a bit leery of it. The commoners are downright ashamed of it, and only the ones who pretend to higher class will even touch other species a bit. Or I suppose for the ones who are actually, honestly transaffectionate; I suppose there must be some of those in every class. Actually doing it, wide and open the way Tethezai does, is a bit shocking even for the upper nobility I think; her parents don't seem to entirely approve. (Zir parents, of course, would just as soon zie got zirself wholly ostracized from all polite society, including theirs.)

I suppose I thought I was going somewhere with these musings, but it's all lost. Threeze isn't a place for deep contemplation in any case. Except for Iska of course... I don't imagine she could ever do anything but that.

Ice Storm

On this branch, wintertime brings three or four ice storms, about one a week and an extra one if all the children are good. I don't know if they were this year; we've had three icestorms so far and we've still got four days of winter to go. (Oh, and for the benefit of the monsters, I don't think that the air elementals really pay attention to how good the Orren children are, but I suppose they could do).

In the city, people scrape ice off of boardwalks afterwards, and off of the sides of buildings, and thwack the trees with long poles to keep them from breaking. Or they use Aquador spells, those who have them. Never Pyrador, I hope -- that would be too dangerous even in wintertime. I doubt that so much as half the city is properly fireproofed.

In the country, there are more trees than people, and honestly the people are lazier. The Orren here only clean off their boardwalks, and I doubt they would do that if Riverred weren't using them.

Instead, they go sliding around outside, zooming downhill, clambering and scrabbling uphill again, hurtling down across the frozen edges of the river, splashing into the middle, coming up in waterform with fish in their mouths. I fly around a little, and sit on the chimney or in one of the fires. Iska hasn't been outdoors today.

And then they troop indoors to eat. There is: fish, shellfish, raw fish, roast fish, pondweed salad, frozen sliced-up fish with fermented pren-juice, more shellfish, simmered fish and fish soup for the chilly children, Zi Ri breath-grilled minnows for whoever feels like it, a bit of leftover pastry, very stale by now, and fish.

I can't really join in the ice games; I am too fragile for crashing around, too thin-scaled to enjoy the cold for long. So today is quiet for me, and perhaps a bit lonely.

That's all, for now.

Poor Flirting by Orren

I am not the Vheshrame Expert In Transaffectionate Flirting. (That would presumably be Tethezai.) Nonetheless, I have some important details about it that anyone attempting it for the first time should keep well in mind.

1. Starting the discussion off theoretically is a perfectly sensible beginning: "Have you ever thought about kissing someone of a different species?" However, at some point, if the flirtation is to be considered successful, the discussion should switch from theoretical to applied, e.g., "Kiss me now, for I yearn for it as the squid-dog yearns for the mackerel!". Or maybe, if one is more shy than melodramatic, "Um ... this is kind of forward of me, but, well, would you be horribly upset if I asked to kiss you? I'm not asking, really, I'm just, well, asking if I can ask."
2. Timing is crucial. If one intends to leave matters for later (see previous point) one should make sure that a later is indeed possible. For example, if ones' intended flirtee is leaving in early afternoon and shall not return for at least three months, if ever, one should not choose late morning for the discussion.
3. Situation is also crucial. If one has recently brought one's same-species and evidently very serious girlfriend to visit one's family, it seems just a touch improper to flirt with other guests after she has been gone for only a few days. It makes one seem inordinately randy. It makes one seem inconstant. It makes one seem, in retrospect, downright noxious. In combination with the preceding items, it even makes one seem randy, inconstant, noxious, and incompetent at it, which is not an appealing combination at all.

Well, most of that was in retrospect. Flounderbouncer and I had a friendly little chat about transaffection, sitting on the roof of the upper house, but I don't think it'll ever become any more than a chat. If he wants anything more, he had better ask for it directly, and even then I doubt he'll get it.

Aside from that rather insulting or incompetent little foray, Threeze was entirely romantically unsatisfying. Restful place, in the wintertime, but I was rather hoping for more.

Iska evidently had a fine time. She and Riverred hit it off immediately, and spent hours discussing religion and languages and whatnots. Despite her pair of handicaps (blindness for the physical one and low class for the social one), Riverred seems to know a great deal about those two topics: Flooosh has been inviting students home several times a year for a month of years, I suppose, and Riverred has had many experts' voices to educate her, even if she can't read on her own. (Or maybe she can -- there is a spell for that, though I don't know if she's got it grafted or even if she would use it if she could.) So far as I know there was no transaffection there either either -- they both seem to act their class about it, and in any case they were talking in the upper house's fire room.

In any reasonable terms, I, too, had a fine time. I'm simply not feeling entirely reasonable about it at the moment. That unflirtation with Flounderbouncer has unpleased me -- if he was going to do something, why not earlier and more? And in any case, with Spirshash's disaster so close in mind, the thought of actually and actively wrecking a marriage (even preemptively) is too close and too distasteful.

The trip back has been quiet enough, no leaks in the Queen of Every Whelk or any such. Whelkie is dickering with the harbormaster's assistant about landing fees or dock space or port taxes or something. I am on a roof, pretending not to be avoiding Iska, and pretending not to be very worried about what Spirshash has done these last nine days.

A Fight at Home [27 Nivvem 4260]

(OOC note: this isn't you. It's not you either. OK, well, one bit of the general Cani customs is you, but no item or situation in the story refers to anyone or anything out of it.)

When I got home from Threeze, the apartment was full of Cani, evidently busy with their party. "What party is this?" I asked Anoof, who met me at the door.

"Welcome back, Sythyry. Do you know how Spirshash got his name?", said Anoof.

"I never asked -- I suppose he picked it himself. Orren usually do. Why?"

"Oh, surely he picked it himself. Because he's very good at spear fighting."

This did not please me greatly. "Anoof? Did he kill Tillissa or Oostmarine?"

Anoof giggled. "No, he didn't kill anyone. Havune will be better in a day or two."

I expressed disbelief; Anoof expressed certainty. I expressed bafflement; Anoof expressed complexity of events. I expressed confusion; Anoof expressed unhappiness. I expressed a desire to enter my home; Anoof expressed the opinion that the fault was only slightly mine and that thus I would be allowed in. Havune, on the couch in his bandages, expressed that I had charged him with a more difficult task than he had expected. Leiska expressed amusement and that Havune had had his fun as well.

Here, then, is the story from the Cani side. I am sure that I have to go get Spirshash's side as well.

So now I am sitting with Tethezai and Dustweed at Cafe du Fronde. Their opinion of the story is slightly different -- Tethezai is angrier with Havune than any of the Cani. She thinks that Havune was particularly bad to her old friend Anoof, and, since Anoof refuses to be furious for himself, she is furious on his behalf. "Even though they're the same species?" I teased. She just looked hurt at me. It's a distinctly unhappy day when you can't tease Tethezai about transaffection matters.

Now I must go visit every Orren in town. (1) I want to hear Spirshash's side of the story, and see what Oostmarine and Tillissa are up to. (1) Strenata and I, last week, had agreed to see some First Day things together tomorrow, and I will watch her troupe dance. I must find her and see if she's gotten engaged to seven counts from Pountyfrount or something in the last week, or whether our date is still on. And find out what her name is today. And, of course, (1) I need to be told some things by Floosh now that we are out of Threeze. And, finally, (2) I would like to drop in on Real-Eel and Vingi, on the off chance that I can get a report of some Orren who had a calm and pleasant week without Flokin stepping on them or anything.

Spirshash's Side

I have done Task the First, to find Spirshash and extract from him the story of the previous week. It is ugly.

So, now a good friend of mine considers another good friend and roommate a nearly-rapist.

I asked Havune about it. Havune gives Oostmarine every bit of blame: Oostmarine's hand poured Oostmarine's chalice full of some rather expensive brandy three times, brandy that should be lapped delicately rather than gulped like rosemary vodka. Oostmarine offered this and that to Havune, "Since Spirshash is taking so long, and since Spirshash has seen fit to divorce me." (This is perplexing because Oostmarine divorced Spirshash, not Spirshash divorced Oostmarine; but I suppose that the brandy was not fully informed about the details of the events.) Havune was fairly sure that Oostmarine was trying to make Spirshash jealous -- to make Spirshash realize the full depth of his love for Oostmarine, and thereby to come back to him and/or choose him over Tillissa. Havune admits to not thinking deeply about this plan, but to the extent he was thinking at all, it seemed a good idea at the time. Or, at least, the physical attention seemed like a good idea at the time. But Spirshash was delayed, and it had evidently gotten somewhat further than Oostmarine had suggested by the time Spirshash had arrived, to the point that hands were starting tentatively to creep beneath clothing.

And there was giggling. Havune says that the giggling, beyond all other matters, displeased Spirshash; that Spirshash specifically bewailed the lack of amusement and joy in marital activities for some weeks.

So that doesn't sound like an all-but-rape to me. Of course, Havune is surely perfuming own his truth, just as Spirshash is surely bemerding it.

This is entirely hideous. I suppose I should be glad to have been away, or I would have had to pick Havune's side, or Spirshash's.

Collecting Every Story [27 Nivvem 4260, night]

Strenata

Seeks-Square-Stars Strenata, wearing a great huge spangled green cloak and what is presumably a scarf with a round pillow in it but looks like a small gold-painted melon by her cheek, pounced upon me for a big and very clothy hug when I finally found which scarfseller she was scarfselling at. She talked with great excitement about The Cheeses of Oorah Thrassen, in which she is playing Mircannis. A very active Mircannis, who swoops across the stage trailing rings of light whenever one of the cheesemakers starts a soliloquy. If a goddess ever swoops across my life that way, I'm going to go hide.

But I don't actually spout soliloquies either, so I daresay I'm safe.

She had a fairly pleasant week, mostly as Kitiina Strenata. She was given a large crimson octahedron kite with peach streamers and a spinny thing on the back -- she did not say who gave it to her -- and spent a good deal of time trotting along the boardwalks, kite bouncing around overhead, attracting attention. The scarfseller encouraged her at this, to the point of sending her out kiteflying on the street with scarves tied to the kite when business was slow. The dance troupe encouraged her too, in the sense that, the second time she missed a rehearsal (viz. the second rehearsal) they replaced her in the troupe by another Orren, one who had decided to spend the entire week studying Old Creithian literature and hence was available immediately.

She actually did sell some moderate number of Ready Adulterer bound spells to one of the local spellbinders, in preparation for First Day. So she should be able to buy books for the spring term, I suppose.

I bought three new sets of ribbons for First Day tomorrow from Strenata's shop: light-green spangled, orange and white spangled, and crimson-threaded-and-very-very-spangled. I am not exactly sure what I will do with three sets of First Day ribbons. "Give two sets to your friends!" is useful advice in principle, but they were cut in my size and I'd have to find an Orren friend and keep him-or-her in water form. in order for them to fit. Or, I suppose, wait 'til next year.

We acquired sausages and scones and steaming mint water, and perched on the railing of the boardwalk by the river, and had an hour without actual drama or even huge surprises in it. We talked only briefly about Spirshash and Havune and all -- she has currently decided that I am not the Grand Sorcerer Duke of Chaos in Spirshash's life, since this one happened when I wasn't there.

And at the end of her lunch hour, the last snow of winter started falling, big flakes the size of saucers; perhaps the weather elementals wanted to make sure they used up their supplies of it by the end of their season. And Strenata scampered back to work, and I went on to the next errand.

(For all monsters: I don't think that the weather elementals actually get supplies of snow. I think they produce it with Creoc Sustenoc Aquador spells, the same way that a real person would. One of my ~mother~'s friends went on a length over brandy at a dinner party about how the World Tree must be infinitely tall, for otherwise the elementals would eventually fill the universe with rainwater. He was considerably mocked -- e.g., if they can create water, they or some other elementals can presumably destroy it too -- but he probably knew the natural history of weather at least somewhat.)

About Flounderbouncer

If you fly into Floosh's bakery, and she immediately points her assistant to the counter and you towards the cafe next door, you know that you are in trouble. Or that someone is.

When Flounderbouncer was asking me many theoretical questions about transaffection, he was not preparing cloddishly to seduce me behind his Orren girlfriend Tliskit's back.

Now, nobody asks theoretical questions about transaffection, except for Rassimel professors working on Catalogues of the Foibles of the Upper Classes or some such. Floosh explained that Flounderbouncer had told her what he never told anyone else in her family, and what he should have and did not tell me, that he was not doing anything behind his Orren girlfriend Tliskit's back. He was, instead, showing off his Rassimel girlfriend Intliscindra to his Orren family, hidden under Cloak of Another God.

(A point of embarrassment: I had just written a Corpador examination on that spell. How could I have missed it?)

(The answer, of course, is that I was mainly paying attention to the Orren who had no obvious girlfriend.)

In any case, Flounderbouncer is very scared. He is nowhere near high enough status to have a Rassimel girlfriend in any sort of public way. Tliskit, Intliscindra, I suppose, could get to be the head of her Healers' Guild chapter, and buy a title, and thereby have somewhat the necessary status, but that's some ways off for a healer-in-training. Flounderbouncer's family might tolerate a quiet quick involvement, but they want to get entirely married, in a formal Rassimel way.

(An awkward aside: I must think of some way to ask about cross-species marriage customs without anybody thinking that I am planning a cross-species marriage myself. Obviously nobody will believe me when I say that it is an entirely theoretical matter.)

Tliskit, by the way, had slightly more status earlier, or at least better prospects. She evidently stole a boxed Cloak of Another God from a rich aunt, a noblewoman whom I have seen at the Duke's court. (Not that I ever could have seen Tliskit at the court, but having an aunt there is something.) A noblewoman who had left the boxed spell ungrafted for over two decades -- but nonetheless a noblewoman who was upset at its theft. Tliskit wound up as an apprentice healer somehow in consequence to that.

Tliskit's visit to Flounderbouncer's family was carefully timed. Wintertime, so that swimming would be limited: Tliskit is a good swimmer for a Rassimel, but not as good as an Orren. A short visit: although Cloak of Another God is a good spell, it is not generally recommended to wear it for more than a few days. And one is sure to slip up eventually, when one uses it for deceit -- when one practices any sort of deceit, really.

Flounderbouncer talked to Floosh about it, in privacy and in confidence. Floosh was not particularly encouraging about Flounderbouncer and Tliskit's prospects in general, but at least agreed that she would do nothing to worsen them. She also recommended that he discuss the matter with me.

I might have been more helpful if he had mentioned just what he wanted to talk about, instead of tricking me into thinking him a feeble and disorganized flirter.

There is more to say here, but the sun has long since gone out and tomorrow starts well before tomorrow.

First Day, part 1 [1 Trandary 4261]

[OOC note: this is the first material from the World Tree authors that has gotten past year 4260!]

At dawn, as the last of the winter got rolled up and tucked away by the weather elementals, the Herethroy children came singing around the apartment, and around every home:

We got created today, today, so give us some candied cabbage.
Four thousand two hundred sixty years, today, today, so give us some candied cabbage.
Or maybe it's one more, today, today
And sweet-leeks would do just as well, on today
You ought to be glad that it's just us today
'Cause Sleeth got created today, today,
And they won't stop with candied cabbage.

We built a big city, today, today, so give us some candied cabbage
Four thousand two hundred sixty years, today, today, so give us some candied cabbage.
Or maybe it's one more, today, today
And big plums would do just as well, on today
You ought to be glad that it's just us today
'Cause Zi Ri were useless today, today
And they ate all the candied cabbage.

... and on through all seven verses. So we gave them some candied cabbage.

Havune was supposed to get the candied cabbage, but the thought seems to have leaked out through the spearhole in his belly. Dustweed and Tethezai are at Tethezai's home -- Dustweed is being shown off, or flung in the faces, of various major nobility that Tethezai is on social terms with. I, of course, was out of town. I hate to admit it, but it was Dubaille who got the candied cabbage -- without being asked -- without begging money from any of us, or even asking to be paid back -- without even complaining. And he got a reasonable amount of it, and a respectable pink-and-orange dyed kind, not the cheapest sort.

Dubaille asked me, "All the species didn't get created on First Day, did they? Is that song wrong?"

Havune, who has been dripping affan as much as blood, explained history to him in detail.

1. The Herethroy and Sleeth got created on the first First Day. The other prime species got created over the next five years. (Some nonprimes had been created earlier -- much earlier -- fifty years or more -- but they don't count.) The song does start with the Sleeth, but doesn't go in order after that.
2. The first First Day was in year 1. It is now year 4261. That means that Herethroy have been running around and singing and chomping cabbage for 4,260 whole years. So it's not "one more."
3. Candied cabbage reliably dates to year 46. Some of the first roundletter manuscripts -- the ones that my absolutely-not-useless ancestors preserved -- talk about cabbage being boiled in honey. That's in common, or nearly, so it's more like "round leafy head-sized vegetable, sweet sticky liquid from insect home, fire-as-a-verb, long time slow", but you can get the point.
4. Nobody eats sweet-leeks any more, so the song has to be fairly old. They only grow slightly underwater, which makes them hard to farm, and expensive. And they don't keep very well once they're cut. (Havune is wrong here -- the Orren in Threeze were looking forward to gathering some when Spring came -- but they're not common in cities.)
5. Inihithre didn't get built on First Day as a city. It was a sort of lean-to, or so they say. They weren't terribly concerned with records at that point, and there's nobody alive who remembers it -- Glikkonen and all were created towards the end of the fourth year, and by that time Inihithre was a few dozen huts and rain-shelters and storehouses and such.
6. Havune's fiances did leave him some fresh plums,the last we shall have 'til summer, which we may eat if we like.

I consider myself choofed in matters of early history and being engaged both. Despite all my grandparents and great-grandparents participation in these matters, I didn't know all of this in any organized way. I haven't even met all my living created ancestors, and I have only spent two years and change with any of them, and I was rather younger at the time.

Thery and Yarwain are at the door, so I shall stop writing for now.

First Day, part 2 [1 Trandary 4261]

Much running around getting dressed! For me it is not so complicated: ribbons (the orange-and-white spangled ones I bought yesterday), a lace collar, paste jewels attached to horns and tailtip. It is officially springtime! I do not have to wrap myself in strips of fur today! The spirits of weather have had a good two hours or more to remove all the coldnesses from the air! (It sometimes takes them that long -- last year they got the air temperature right, but left a snowstorm going through midafternoon. Probably on purpose.)

Havune and Dubaille have much more work to do for their dressing, especially since Cani costuming for the day assumes that there are more people around to help -- unwounded people! -- and his fiances are not coming 'til somewhat later. He may have asked Dubaille for a hand, for Dubaille and he were speaking to each other in angry tones when I left the apartment. I am not entirely delighted with either of them just now.

Thery and Yarwain, nice reliable Rassimel, were ready when I got there, and it was entirely unnecessary for me to hover underneath the window and scratch on it without looking. A very amused Thery put a fish dumpling between my horns while I still had my eyes closed -- they were eating breakfast, fully clothed, in the bedroom. I did abduct the dumpling and two others.

We descended to the street, where we found many many Herethroy children getting their sickness of candied cabbage, sprawled all over the battered boardwalks. I didn't realize how many Herethroy lived in town: a great many, it seems, at least in this quarter.

Everyone was out in their finery. It's usually easy enough to tell who is a student and who is not, but today it's extremely easy indeed. Students have money to spare on clothes -- or, more likely, have family or patrons who make sure that they are thoroughly and extensively dressed for these occasions, and for other court occasions. Non-students in this neighborhood have ribbons that were worn before, or that were torn from colored cloth, or such as that.

Over between a leatherworker's shop and a tenement, there used to be a raised section of boardwalk -- they say that, long ago, there was a garden of fungi under it, and the locals built the boardwalk high so they could climb under it and pick food. The garden is long gone, but the boardwalk is still high. Until this morning, when a gang of students confiscated it and surrounded it with thick fog. I am surprised at the fog, since many of the students are Orren and the fog looks wet enough to turn them into otters.

But a great big painted paper Khtsoyis was just raised out of the fog on a pole, and waved about, and made to shout "The Cheeses of Oorah Thrassen" will start in one minute, wherefore be silently seated, all who will, and be gone far away, all who won't." So it's about time to stop writing and acquire a companionable perch on Thery's shoulder.

First Day, part 3, with cheese [1 Trandary 4261]

The Cheeses of Oorah Thrassen went tolerably well for an Orren student street performance. Strenata zoomed dramatically across the stage four times -- flying! With an Airador spell! Someone on the cast must be remarkably skillful for a student, or maybe some advanced student or professional sorcerer helped out. Spells to hoist a person a short distance are usually Corpador spells, flesh spells, but this was an Airador spell, a wind that blew her from left to right or right to left, and could just as easily have blown her from here to Oorah Thrassen. Nice work.

The acting was entirely adequate. Vompadro was overdone, as he should be, and his voice echoed as if he were shouting his lines from the bottom of a barrel. The duel scene was a fun bit of stagecraft -- the actors who weren't in that scene got into that scene by being cheese-racks, wearing blank wooden masks, and with a lot of imagination I could believe the duel was actually going on in the catacombs/cheese caverns. And in the end, when the great cheese fell on the doomed Vompadro, they arranged for Vompadro to be standing in a valley sort of thing made of painted cloth, and had the cheese roll over him half a dozen times back and forth.

Thery and Yarwain and I collected Seeks-Square-Stars Strenata, who was bubbling (and still trailing rings of light from a spell which will last for three hours more). She had just gotten her mummer's terches, and insisted on getting all of us lunch from the street vendors. Since it is First Day, everyone was selling plue and tarrissy with their usuals, so Strenata and I got sliced frozen fish on cold plue wrapped in a pungent leaf, and the Rassimel got plue-ish porridge with dried cherries and sweet mushrooms.

By which time the locals -- the Tailors' Guild, for this street -- had built their bonfire in the center of the street, piles of green herbs and tinder in a ring of logs, surrounded by nervous tailors wearing fantastical cloth-of-gold hats, holding water-spells and buckets of mud in case a spark got out. We joined the ringdance for a few minutes, long enough to toss the spoons and bowls from lunch into the fire. Seeks-Square-Stars was a bit exciteable, and flew across the fire trailing rings of light, and got scowls from many tailors. So we dragged her around a few corners to where the Marigold Society was putting on a puppet show about Lenhirrik and Poxague, with Yarwain holding her left arm and Thery holding her right arm and me sitting on her head and flapping feathery leathery wings in her eyes whenever she tried to fly. She bit my left rear foot, but not very hard.

It wasn't a very good puppet show, really, not compared to the Cheeses we had just seen or acted in. (For one thing, I don't think that Inihithre was actually planted solid with marigolds, and, although Lenhirrik is quite likely to emphasize the vegetable nature of all things when she is around, and sometimes does make flowers sprout in her path, I don't think they're all marigolds. Silly Rassimel florist fanatics.) Also Thery and Yarwain kept whispering that the pornographic scenes involving me were going to start any minute -- and no, it wasn't that kind of puppet show, it was a very ordinary street performance. Hmph.

Afterwards, Thery and Yarwain went to something or other at the Countess Gloun's city mansion, and Strenata went for a quick swim and a nap, and I came back home to scribble this and change to the light-green spangled ribbons, since I have them.

First Day, part 4 [1 Trandary 4261]

The Great Temple of Virid, near the center of Vheshrame, holds the traditional First Day ceremonies. I suppose the auxiliary temples do too, but the one at the Great Temple is the important one, and not to be missed. Everyone who is anyone, or wants to be, and everyone who comes from Vheshrame, or wants to come, is required to be there. Everyone!

So, of course, I couldn't get anyone to go there with me.

Strenata is taking a swim and a nap; Thery and Yarwain are at the Countess Gloun's; Dustweed and Tethezai are nowhere to be found; Havune is introducing his fiances to his poor relations or some such; Spirshash and Tillissa are going to the auxiliary temple near the academy; Real-Eel and Vingi are strolling around, hand in hand, eating bits of pickled fish from street vendors, and looking so happy in each other that they don't have time to spare for a god. Oh, and Dubaille is trying to kidnap his children from his wife or something like that. He didn't explain really.

So I went alone, hissing about every friend.

But of course Dustweed and Tethezai were there -- where else would they be? Dustweed's family was there: the Baroness Bethony Grentian zirself, zir husband Greenthorn and wife Tormentille, Greenthorn's other mari and other wife, nine or ten other adults and children only a bit younger than Dustweed. One gets the impression that they are generally poor, by baronial standards. Greenthorn's other mari wears enchanted ribbons, and his other wife wears the emblems of seven mills, but the baronness zirself has cloth ribbons.

In any case, Tethezai was being ferocious in a very kind and innocent way to the Grentians. She was pointing out the notables and dignitaries to them, for she knew them personally and the Grentians did not, and with each one she told a bit of a story. The Cani gentlewoman there, indigo her ribbons and copper her earrings, is the Minister of Flowing, set in charge of it from last year from being an assistant minister of finance, and not a drop of water enters nor leaves the city that she has not approved herself, nor any other liquid either. Two months ago I sat next to her at the fish course at a dinner at Count Threnzianne's, when she was personally inspecting the flowing of the cuminous brandy, extensively. She complained greatly that Taloomp had tripped her that morning with his heavy swinging tail, and sent her to inspect the sewage pool from very close up indeed, but what could she do? Taloomp is a supreme Aquador mage, and there is no dismissing him from the Department of Flowing, and, as he has been there for so many years, there is no administrative punishment that she can apply.

The Grentians were suitably intimidated. Their hated child and heir has acquired a very well-connected and high-status lover.

I joined them, landing on Dustweed's shoulder familiarly, and smiling and introducing myself to all of them. Since this seemed to be an occasion to use heavy etiquette, so I gave my long name, with my parents' and grandparents' names, which fell upon them like the paw of the fire god.

And Tethezai gave me a quick huge smile.

I seem to have declared myself publicly as Dustweed's ally and supporter.

Next time I accidentally pour myself a big chalice of doom, I do hope it's about a cute Orren.

In any case, the ceremony is about to start...

First Day, part 5 [1 Thory 4261]

Most of my friends are sensible about having other things to do just now. The First Day ceremony at the Temple of Virid ranges from boring to insipid to tedious to uninteresting, and then goes back to boring again for dramatic unity's sake.

Boring: It starts with Herethroy choral singing. There's a 244-part song. They sing one bit every day, or every day but today. The day's ceremony starts with the last bit in the cycle. Typical religious silliness, starting at the end. That's the boring bit. There may be 244 parts to the song, but they all sound exactly the same to me, and they go on and on and on and on and on and on and on, forever, or for nearly a sixth of an hour, whichever comes first.

Insipid:Then the High Priest of Virid, looking entirely old-fashioned and ridiculous in a plum-colored waistcoat and a ceremonial topiary of a hat-thing, stands there with giant acorns in all four hands and explains in pompous pious polemics about how primes were created 4260 years ago to expand and rule the World Tree and be the right people and all of that obvious stuff. Then he creates a big arken tree in a big wooden pot in the plaza.

I do not understand that part of the ritual in the slightest. This isn't the anniversary of the day that the World Tree was created -- I don't know if we even know what day that is. It's the anniversary of the day the Herethroy were created. He should create, oh, a huge pile of hosh grain or something.

Tedious: Then a dozen other priests strip off their old-fashioned ridiculous clothes, and climb up the tree, and start chopping bits off of it and tossing them down to other, less agile priests with meng-nut sickles beneath. The less agile priests, still carefully ridiculous in Herethroy clothing (even the two-thirds of them that aren't Herethroy, so they've got limp floppy sleeves) stripped the leaves from the branches, and tossed them in baskets, and went around giving them to everyone. There is Symbolic Meaning Here. The high priest declaimed this and that.

Boring: It ends with Herethroy choral singing. There's a 244-part song. They sing one bit every day, or every day but today. The day's ceremony ends with the first bit in the cycle. Typical religious silliness, ending at the beginning. That's the boring bit. There may be 244 parts to the song, but they all sound exactly the same to me, and they go on and on and on and on and on and on and on, forever, or for nearly a sixth of an hour, whichever comes first.

First Day, part 6 [1 Trandary 4261]

I would call this, "Lunch with the In-Laws", but they're not my in-laws, they're Tethezai's. Actually they're not in-laws at all, but they aren't outlaws either, so I'm rather at a loss for what to call them.

And there's no calling it "lunch" either. It's halfway through the afternoon. As is required by First Day, the regular order of the ordinary day is scrambled -- shaken about -- stood on its head. I'm surprised that the day doesn't end with all the customary meals, squeezed together into a dense brick, right at nightfall, with breakfast last.

In any case, the party for lunch was: me; Dustweed; Tethezai; Greenthorn and Tormentille Grentian; and Mellilot Pfirsnavine, who is their second wife. The dread Baroness Bethony Grentian gave Dustweed a look that promised future agonies, and departed in a cluster of minor Herethroy nobility, wherein her title would count for something. Someone or other tried to collect Greenthorn and Mellilot to visit her own family, but they would not go. Greenthorn, understandably enough, wanted to see precisely what swamp of honeyed alligators Dustweed was in. He was not to be disappointed.

Mellilot, unfortunately enough, wanted to talk about my grandfather. I must learn to be wary of all people with enchanted ribbons and two measures of wits. One measure and they won't be interested; three measures and they'll know what not to ask; but two measures is dangerous. Or at least socially awkward.

For further hunger: there are a good many restaurants near the Great Temple of Virid. On First Day right after the public rituals, they are all full of the people who did not attend the ritual, and the boardwalk in front of each one is full of the people who did attend. I complained most woefully and pitifully to Tethezai -- in Nounwise truth it was simply a tactic to avoid further questioning by Mellilot about why "Glikkonen's Trio" contains four things. She exerted her powers as best she could, but she is not of sufficient rank as to actually create a new table in a restaurant.

Or, more realistically for one mighty in rank instead of magic, to compel a group of diners to leave their table. That would take a count or above, I think, and must be done delicately.

On an ordinary day, at an ordinary restaurant, such a party as this would be given the first place in the line by the asking for it.

(I hadn't noticed before, but restaurants in the student quarter don't do that at all -- well, I suppose they would if one asked, or if the actual duke showed up at The Sloop in Soup -- but nobody asks. Even Nestrune doesn't; I know no other way to get him to be quiet for seven or twelve minutes that he is the Crown Prince of Daukrhame. Sometime I will have to think about this.)

In any case, today the streets were crowded with people with courtesy titles (which is to say, children or spouses of nobles), and a fair number of the actual titleholders as well; and every one of them hungry; and every one of them willing to use their to get food sooner. We looked at various queues, but getting to the front of one was hopeless. After some inspection -- and Tormentille revealing that zie, too, was extraordinarily hungry -- we settled on Muffantando's, which none of us particularly likes, but at least the other nobility doesn't particularly like it either and so there were only two groups at the front of the line that Tethezai (with marginal assistance from the Grentians and myself) couldn't claim precedence over.

But Tethezai's pleasantness to the shopkeepers was a double unpleasantness to Dustweed. Over the soup course she had to ask, "Who is Cheffnarry?", which must be an uncomfortable question to ask at the best of times, and at a table with two-thirds of your parents and such can't be the best of times.

Cheffnarry was -- and presumably still is -- fearsomely pretty, and dangerously skillful at music and poetry, and a champion at dressage, and a collector of bits of sentient monsters, and the unfortunate fifth child of a Rassimel couple who, by reasonable economics, should have had only four. With any reasonable person, Dustweed should be exceedingly jealous of her. Tethezai took far too long to realize that she should have reminded Dustweed that she is not reasonable, and that, in fact, she is spending First Day (and many days on either side of it) with Dustweed and not a moment with Cheffnarry.

Which was enough and plenty for Dustweed; which was all zie wished to hear. Unfortunately, by that point, everyone else at the table was curious and a half about the story of Cheffnarry, and Dustweed's parents were not willing to let the matter drop. So Tethezai gave them their honeyed alligators.

1. Twenty-one years ago, Tethezai understood that she could not love another Rassimel.
2. Ten years ago, Tethezai's parents begin to have their suspicions that Tethezai is following the upper-class style of taking lovers of other species a bit too devoutly. (Tethezai being only twenty at the time, and heavily chaperoned, "lover" does not mean what it does for her today, of course.)
3. Five years ago, Tethezai's parents explain to her the distinction between "amusement" and "responsibility". She explains to them the distinction between "attraction" and "disinterest". A lively discussion ensues. A compromise is reached whereby Tethezai will make sincere efforts -- of several months' duration -- on three Rassimel of her or her parents' choosing.
4. Three years ago, Cheffnarry is selected as the third of the three Rassimel. The choice is made carefully. Cheffnarry is as artistic as Tethezai, but in different media. Cheffnarry is as pretty as one can imagine. Cheffnarry is distinctly fond of Tethezai, and vice-versa. Cheffnarry very much needs to make a good marriage. Tethezai does her best -- really she does! -- and is quite close to Cheffnarry for some extended time. Marriage is discussed.
5. On their daughters' one-year anniversary, both Tethezai's and Cheffnarry's parents somehow neglect to arrange for even the slightest chaperonage. The late evening tries to follow its natural course. In the morning, both girls are deep in their tears and their furies both. Marriage is no longer discussed.
6. The next day, Tethezai declares that their arrangement is satisfied in full measure; and that, furthermore, her parents have made chaperonage futile at this point. There is much bitter argument. The current arrangement (in a preliminary form involving a Cani lad) is started, so quickly that you might expect that most of the concerned people had been anticipating it for some time.

Tethezai was all very calm as she told this story, but she did not let go of Dustweed's mid-hand under the table from beginning to end of it. I do hope Dustweed's chitin isn't too badly dented from it.

Afterwards, three very embarrassed Herethroy gobbled the rest of their salads, and discovered that they had arranged to meet their Baronness quite soon, and blessed the table with roughly the right amount of amber, and left. And Dustweed and Tethezai and I spoke of art and magic and -- gods help us! -- candlemaking, until the waiters glowered respectfully at us and mentioned the long queue still outside.

At the next table, the natural-history curio sellers looked distinctly apologetic that they had brought the topic up. Pretending that they hadn't been eavesdropping would have been futile.

Having ritually told Virid (and Gnarn, I suppose) "Thanks for last year, now give us your Verbs and all for another year and nothing else thank you", and, more importantly, had lunch, and, still more importantly, paid for it and made up the lozen-and-a-third that the senior Grentians were short, we escaped past the ravenous hordes of beribboned carpenters and tailors and leaf-fliers and cheesemakers, and retreated to Ghaln-Yastrou Park for privacy, shaking, and apologies.

(And, for all monsters, "ice-hedgehog castle" is the etymology of the word for such a thing. If there are real ice hedgehogs, I hope their castles are less transient and fragile than these.)

In any case, Ghaln-Yastrou Park was no better suited for walking today than it had been yesterday, which is to say, only the boardwalks were at all passable on the ground, on pain of having to clean your boots if you got off of them. Dustweed and Tethezai were willing to pay this price for a bit of privacy, trudging across the picnic field into one of the little clumps of trees where, well, couples traditionally get a little privacy but not too much. Privacy even from me in this case -- they asked me to float guard outside, and discourage people from creeping up on them unawares.

Yes, I can see them. No, they're just talking.

Which gave me time for reflection and meditation. Tethezai had a serious Cani boyfriend, after Cheffnarry. Tethezai knew Anoof, one of Havune's fiances, well enough to be furious when Havune was being ... not disloyal, exactly, but complicated in his loyalties. Which leaves me very curious ... and how does one ask such a question? Which should one ask?

Which, since I am still lurking by the side of the path, waiting to leap out and confront anyone who tries to track my roommate and zir consort to their chosen lair (from which I hear occasional low snatches of phrases like, "Why didn't you tell me that earlier?". From Tethezai, which confuses me greatly.), leads me to inordinately complicated sentence structure and an Informal Normative and Practical Table of Transaffection. The Normative Fraction Transaffectionate is, what fraction of that species' upper classes should be transaffectionate to some noticeable degree -- say, as much as Havune (who can be induced to a certain amount of kissing and fondling by an Orren), not necessarily as much as Tethezai (who actively falls in love with a Herethroy).

Or me.

The Practical Fraction is what fraction actually does. These numbers are based on (1) my opinions, and (2) a casual impression of rumor and innuendo, and, as such, inaccuracy and error are out of the question.

Not that I have any great degree of acquaintance with the last three, nor even good sources of rumor. There are only a handful of Gormoror at the Academy; a Sleeth or two, and I don't think any Khtsoyis at all, which is the proper number.

Rather more than this have tried it out and found it unsatisfying, I should think. A third? A sixth? I suppose a third of higher society and a sixth of not-quite-so-high?

I wonder if one could get actual facts here. It's an awfully personal question to go asking everyone, and an awfully rude thing to put the answers into charts and tables. A spell like The Complete Census might work, though I suspect the gods pay less attention to matters which they do not have to get personally involved, so I daresay it would stretch even my grandparent's powers to do it...

At any rate, it seems appropriate to carry on a theoretical exercise in cross-species affection when one is serving as the defender of an actual instance of it. But the actual instance of it seems to have progressed passed the fearsome conversation and on to the sitting on of laps and not talking very much, so I daresay it is time to go.

First Day, part 8 [1 Trandary 4261]

Well, Dustweed and Tethezai seem none the worse with each other for whatever revelations were revealed and histories were storied. Dustweed's kilt had not fared nearly so well. Zie had sat on a treestump, squashing a large slug beneath zir chitin-armored (and hence unfeeling) rump, and ground it quite thoroughly into zir clothing. I had one more set of ribbons that Strenata had talked me into buying, so I had no quarrel with going home for new clothes.

I started out riding on Dustweed's shoulder, since, after all, I had just done her two-thirds of an hour of a favor. Every gaze in the city was heavy upon us, though. Dustweed and Tethezai are notorious, each in zir own style, and I am notable enough in mine. I hope they didn't think that it was some very disturbing version or perversion of a Herethroy trio -- after a few very curious looks by a number of Cani in plum waistcoats, I decided to fly, awkward or not.

Dubaille was at home, feeding his two children on porridge with prunes. The children looked rather miserable. I could hardly blame them. The porridge smelled burned, the prunes looked sour, Dubaille's voice was ragged as he coaxed them to finish up so they could go to the temple, and I was sure that they had been taken away from a much nicer lunch at Lady Quissenden's.

Tethezai, who is entirely full of kindness, offered to help Dustweed change clothes. Given the choice of (1) standing guard over Tethezai and Dustweed for another two-thirds of an hour or (2) watching Dubaille torment his children with inadequacy, I fled. Escaped! Flapped my wings and skipped out the window! It was the only thing to do.

The family of plum-waistcoated Cani noted my swift passage with some interest. I daresay there will be more rumors about me by eveningtime.

However, a bit of knocking around discovered that Seeks-Inihithre Strenata was up and about from her nap.

"Why are you seeking Inihithre? It's still on Craitheia, where it has been for four thousand two hundred sixty years."

"Less about four hours, Sythyry ... Besides, they might have moved it. News takes two or three days to get here from there. That's plenty of time for a band of brave, defiant, determined Orren to pick it up and, oh, scoot it off to distant broken-off Juneia."

"You're named after the city Inihithre, aren't you? Not, oh, a large arkenwood sculpture of a roasted fish of that name, done by some berserk and particularly-starving starving conceptual artist somewhere that I haven't heard of."

When Strenata laughs from the common flavor of happiness, she laughs like light wooden bells being struck by pine mallets. When she laughs at the ridiculous, she laughs like light wooden bells being struck by frozen mice held chopstick-wise by a pair of flutes. (Disclaimer: I have not actually heard light wooden bells being struck by frozen mice held chopstick-wise by a pair of flutes, but never doubt my theoretical powers.)

"Well, I'm a particularly-starving starving conceptual actress somewhere that you haven't heard of. I will let you buy me a roast fish and name it Inihithre if you like."

I looked at the name in her hat, and decided that that was a particularly good arrangment. Especially since she wanted to change clothes again, and told me to simply turn my back and write for a bit, and is making odd squeaking noises behind me as she tries to squirm into a green tube dress sort of thing that is a size and a half too small.

First Day, part 9: Dinner with Strenata [1 Trandary 4261]

As you recall, the arrangement was that I buy Seeks-Inihithre Strenata a roast fish and name it Inihithre.

It was quickly decided on the way there -- there being of course Tamvaus -- that all the dishes at dinner were in fact famous or important cities, or, to be unduly technical, named after such. Which lead to the following table at table, enscribbled on the back of Seeks-Inihithre's nametag

The various cities were duly demolished. Strenata and I had to share the eating of Nestrune Kreslink; there was too much of him for me.

Which lead to desserts.

Strenata: I'm too full to eat a town, much less another city!

Sythyry: How about a god, then? It is First Day, after all.

Strenata: Just the thing. Waiter, bring me a small bowl of your compote of dried prens, and name it Virid, if you please.

Orren Waiter: [Doesn't blink] One creation god for you, O Orren. And for you, O Zi Ri?

Sythyry: I'd like the chilled cream soup, in a chalice not a bowl if you please.

Strenata: Name it 'Merklundum Harnipsundum the Dog who Killed a Fish'

Orren Waiter: [Doesn't blink]. One chilled cream soup, in a chalice, named after the water god. Would you like any other deities?

Strenata: No, thank you.

Orren Waiter: We do have the Star-Serpent on the menu today, which I believe is manifested in the form of candied ginger flavored with pondygreen. Also, the chef got to the market early enough to acquire the discipline of music before the temples could -- you may have wondered why their choir was so dreadful today; you need look no further than the chef of Tamvaus -- and it has been reduced to a sweet syrup flavored with chissowary. Could I interest either of you wonderful deiphages in either of these important natural phenomena?

Strenata:[collapses in giggling]

Sythyry:[Manages to look serious] A bit of the star-serpent sprinkled on Merklundum would be excellent.

Orren Waiter:[Walks back towards the kitchen. At the door, he calls out in the style of less respectable establishments:] Hey, cook! One Herethroy-maker, one wet puppy in a chalice, chopped snakey on top, for table Sh!

Rassimel Chef:Darkwell, what shoutments are you now shouting? You are not meaning! [Kitchen door closes behind Orren Waiter while Rassimel Chef is still shouting.]

The tip for this meal was very, very large. And afterwards, back at my home, there was a certain amount of distinctly nervous kissing and tailtwining on the couch, until Havune and sixteen thousand Cani showed up.

First Day, part 10 [1 Trandary 4261]

Havune brought a flock and a half of fiances, relations, friends, and nobody-in-particulars over, to feed them port in consomee and perform other Secret Cani Rituals (consisting mainly of telling jokes at each others' expense). I couldn't help investigating, though.

Sythyry:Anoof? Could we chat privately a moment?

Anoof:Certainly. Except of course that Leiska has compelled me to wear this enchanted ivory crab headdress, which reports to her instantly every word I say.

Sythyry:[Peers at Anoof's hat, which does have a little ivory crab on it, but no visible magic.] Is that a First Day joke?

Anoof:[Flattens his ears briefly] It is First Day still. No: the crab is from Leiska but it's just jewelry. As far as I know!

I tried to take him to my room. My door was closed, and there was much giggling going on inside, with voices including Dustweed, Tethezai, and someCani else. Did Tethezai acquire one of Havune's fiances, relations, friends, or nobody-in-particulars for further First Day celebrations in her own style? I didn't dare open the door. I acquired my own someCani out to the boardwalk in front of the house.

Sythyry:You've known Tethezai a while, they say, Anoof.

Anoof:Quite some years, truly. I am told that I pulled her tail quite hard at her third birthday party.

Sythyry:And, um, fairly well?

Anoof:There's well and there's well. A Rassimel's personality is a tall vase with perfume at the bottom. At the top you can smell it plainly. Stick your muzzle inside, and it can be overwhelming. My muzzle won't reach to the bottom, where the scent is strongest in its form as liquid perfume. The metaphor doesn't work as well for you, O squirmy-necked Zi Ri.

Well, if he had been Tethezai's Cani boy lover, he was no longer, and he might be bitter about it -- he might be complaining that he couldn't truly know her.

Sythyry:Was she always transaffectionate?

Anoof:Dustweed's not her first Herethroy, if that's what you mean. She couldn't have been more than eighteen [World Tree] years old when she went courting cross-species. [He chuckled.] And cross-class too. They say there's some definite good to dating gentlefolk of other species, but you shouldn't be caught in the bushes with your gardener's son.

That sounded jealous to me. Unfortunately I can get sidetracked.

Sythyry:What definite good is that?

Anoof:I think not so much -- it leads to your brother-brother getting speared by a jealous Orren in a rush! But the theory is that, since prime civilization gets such a strength from being made from eight species, that the leaders and epitomes of prime civilization ought to be comfortable and companionable with ... not all eight, but at least the suitable ones.

Sythyry:No need to be comfortable with Khtsoyis or Sleeth?

Anoof:I leave that to the Tethezais.

Did that sound a touch bitter too? The conversation wandered around for a while, without much more evidence one way or another.

Anoof:In any case, perhaps we could come to your question?

Sythyry:[Very embarrassed] Oh, it wasn't a particular question, exactly, and you've already answered it.

Anoof:[Blinks at me in that awful way Cani do when they know you're telling a white lie but they are being too polite to call you on it.] Well then, if you are fully and deeply satisfied, I should like another cup of port and consomee -- which, though he bought it from a store this year rather than making it, my conspecific beloved had done tolerably well with.

So that was utterly useless.

First Day, part 11 [1 Trandary 4261]

In Havune's room, various people had decked Broon out with leaves, mostly dried yilliat leaves from the market and evergreen boughs. (Where are you supposed to find fresh leaves this time of year? It is spring, but it's not eighteen hours into spring.) They carefully plastered a pair of big yilliat leaves over his eyes, and drew horrible glaring staring charcoal eyes on them. And they lead him out, chanting:

Here we have the Warlord of Leaves,
The Warlord of Leaves owns every muzzle!
Here we have the Warlord of Leaves,
The Warlord of Leaves owns every rump!

The Warlord of Leaves has conquered the flatlands,
The Warlord of Leaves has conquered the lands!
The Warlord of Leaves has conquered the flatlands,
The Warlord of Leaves has conquered the hands!

Tethezai and Dustweed let Leiska out of my bedroom after a while. They had adorned her with every ribbon Dustweed owned, and a fair number of mine considering they hadn't asked me first -- ribbons on her ears, ribbons on her tail, gauzy thin ribbons over her eyes, ribbons on her ankles and wrists and elbows and neck, ribbons on her ribbons on her ribbons. Then they lead her out, chanting:

Make way for the Duchess of Ribbons,
Part like grasses for the Duchess of Ribbons,
Make way for the Duchess of Ribbons,
Part like legs for the Duchess of Ribbons!

The Duchess of Ribbons will conquer the flatlands,
The Duchess of Ribbons will conquer the lands!
The Duchess of Ribbons will conquer the flatlands,
The Duchess of Ribbons will conquer the pants!

And the two blindfolded Cani were given their traditional weapons -- a floppy pine branch for Broon, a stale loaf of bread all tied up in whatever ribbons were left for Leiska -- and they went at it in the middle of the living room. Broon is a head and a half taller than Leiska, and strong enough to lift three of her, and he swished away fearsomely with his floppy pine branch. Of course, he couldn't see a bit, and I daresay that Cani smelling is only so good in a duel. Leiska whacked him with that bread, once-twice-thrice on the cheek and thigh (the end of the loaf broke off) and belly, and over he went. She jumped on his chest, and crumbled breadcrumbs all over his face 'til he was choking and spitting and laughing.

Then everyone else sang the Duchess of Ribbons' song again, only with "has conquered" instead of "will conquer". (I didn't sing 'til the second half; I didn't know the words.) After that, it was time for more port and consomee. Leiska, still the Duchess of Ribbons, mixed the port and consomee, from a special little pottery jug of port. Very nice port and not too much consomee; I had two chalices of it.

She didn't mention that "special" in this case also meant "generously spiked with strong cordial."

Quite a few hours later, I woke up. Someone had thoughtfully arranged me in the livingroom fireplace. Someone had also thoughtfully arranged all five empty jugs of port around me in the fireplace, and each one bigger than me.

I flew over a half-dozen sleeping drunken Cani, artistically arranged all over the living room, and went to my proper bed. This was somewhat unwise, as Dustweed and Tethezai had taken it as a night alone together, and might have chosen more sheets had they expected me to come in in the night.

I do not greatly care, for I am still half-drunk and more than a little ill, Tethezai is improper, and Dustweed is hideous. Tomorrow, I will be sober, Tethezai will be improper, and Dustweed will be hideous. If I were seeking anyone, it would be Seeks-... um ... whatever she seeks.

Back from Holidays [2 Trandary 4261]

There's nothing like sleeping in a fire for a few hours to help with an excess of drunkenness. It must boil the alcohol off or some such. (One must be sure not to vomit, but I was sufficiently moderate this time.) So I woke up feeling as bright and cheerful and refreshed as a kitten in a millwheel.

Dustweed and Tethezai were up much later than I was, and, consequently, they were still thoroughly asleep in a tangle when I woke up. I felt obliged to drape a sheet over them. I hope they are thoroughly embarrassed; I do not want to see them at their sleep-interrupted intimacies again. Or not until I have some intimacies of my own.

Breakfast: chopped jumby melon -- a delicacy which will soon be out of season, which is just fine. A bit of cold poached herring. Seven hundred and eighty-eight chalices of kathia -- I may be off by a few there, for I think that the first few hundred didn't have much of an effect. A rather distressing discussion with Dubaille, who evidently attended the Lady Quissenden's formal First Day party, despite her having somehow neglected to invite him. (Two Herethroy gardeners, whom he -- he! -- had hired, the Lady Quissenden had remove him from the ballroom (where he was hurling insults and appetizers at her), and lock him in a shed until this morning.)

And now to the task of the day: choosing the term's courses.

If the reader has been moderate about First Day drinking, zie will note three or four courses in applied magic. (One may debate and discuss the applied nature or not of Prof. Ili's course -- though not being involved in a notable magical catastrophe seems distinctly practical.) If one has been drinking, one might well see seven hundred and eighty-eight.

So, I brought my list of courses to the Official of Disbursements at the Bank of Teleporting Hexagons. My date was carefully chosen! Alas, zie had not been drinking, and saw only four courses. My ~mother~'s instructions to the bank were slightly more generously worded than zir instructions to me -- "classes of direct relevance to the professional sorcerer".

Zie waved zir antennae and said, "All seems to be in order."

Which is to say, I have a good deal more money this month, or next month, than I did last month, or the month before.

I am not exactly sure how to measure how much. My ~mother~ directs zir money precisely: I have so much for lodging, so much for food, so much for a servant, so much for buying books, so much for buying spells, so much for clothing suitable for court, and then another so much for "frivolity". For spells ... I could, I think, pass the whole month doing nothing but buying spells -- worthwhile spells! -- and grafting them on, and still not exhaust that facet of my allowance. Books, similarly: I could buy in a month more than I could read in a month. Frivolity is not so greatly encouraged; I suspect that I shall not have much more than I do now for it.

Still, I could -- get a new apartment with a room all to myself! And a servant! And some big heavy weighty tomes! And a few useful spells, so that if the servant is ill, I could put the big heavy weighty tomes back on the shelves!

I could graft Cloak of Another God.

The Dentist's Despair [2 Trandary 4261]

Havune:That's wonderful news, Sythyry! It must delight you to be so easily bribeable -- or, rather, to have such a simple matter which your parent will offer you a bribe about.

Me:I certainly prefer it to following the orders of whoever's turn it is to give them.

Havune:Are you moving out, then?

Me:That wouldn't be kind to the rest of you, really.

Havune:No, but I wasn't asking precisely whether or not it would be kind.

Me:I think I will move out at the end of the term. I said I would stay for a full year, and stay a full year I shall. Despite every bit of offirrah in the house. Besides moving is a bother and a half, and the term starts tomorrow.

Havune wagged his tail broadly, and indicated four stew-encrusted leather pots that Dubaille had hidden under a chair over the last six days, rather than wash them.

Havune:Perhaps your new wealth could move us to a three-person apartment, in the way that takes no great amount of extra time or effort.

Yes, Dubaille is that bad. But no, he's not such a doorwayer to me as he is to Havune. I do not share a room with him, after all, and I might perhaps have shown him the trick of hiding pots.

Nonetheless, I am the brilliant conversationalist of Vheshrame. Any ordinary mortal would have been flabbergasted -- stunned -- shocked by such an idea ... would have gaped a moment in bewildered silence. (Unless they had thought of it already.) I, being the cogent and brilliant genius of repartee, simply chose to pause for a period of dignified, erudite quietude, as if to say, "This is a grave matter; it would be wrong for an immortal being such as myself to render a decision without undue deliberation."

I'm afraid that the difference was a bit too subtle for Havune, though. Especially as I forgot to keep flapping my wings, and was floating in front of him looking no doubt rather like a frog who has just eaten an arhoolie leaf instead of a fly.

Me:I wouldn't be sorry to see his tailtip tomorrow and none of the rest of him ever. I'm not sure that we could decently evict him, though.

Havune:If decency were a concern he should have had the decency to tell us the truth about his personal habits. If decency were a concern, he should clean his stewpots before they stink.

Me:I shall have to think on this further. After all, he is local nobility; one shouldn't mistreat him too much.

Havune:Sythyry, his title is entirely through his ex-wife. He was a dentist before he married her.

Me:That's what he was? I thought that's just what he was doing now for a bit of cash.

Havune:Yes, for he's got the training and the friends for it.

Me:Hardly one of the greater guilds, I imagine. Still, sending him to sleep under the boardwalk would be unkind. He won't see his children so easily there.

Havune:His children may thank you for that! When they're here they cry thoroughly to go home.

Candledance [3 Trandary 4261]

(St. Trebulican's Classroom is, perhaps, the most glorious and comfortable closet on campus. Alphame St. Trebulican could not decide whether he would be the stingiest donor to Vheshrame Academy, or the most generous non-donor. I think he settled on the latter. In any case, Strenata had to ask eight senior students before she found one who knew where St. Trebulican's Classroom was.)

I have never gone to Candledance before. It never seemed worth the amber to me. It is a restaurant in the Hour-Candle of Food style. (In Yistreian dialect, that is a single word -- loosely "yaskabawa" -- where "yaska" is most of "hour-candle" and "bawa" is a word for "food" used mainly in the phrase "to stuff onesself greatly with food".) In the center of the restaurant is a tall taper, painted in many bright rings, thin enough so that seven or eight rings will burn down in an hour. When you are seated, you are given a chalice of sweet wine: a wooden chalice painted with the color of the candle-ring of the moment.

And the waiters pad around the restaurant, each with a cart of this and that in little square wooden dishes. A quick gesture, and the waiter will squirt the this or the that with its traditional sauce, and give it to you. No word is spoken, though when the waiter is a less well-off student in your Spelunking class earning a bit of pocket money and you have accidentally chosen wudgeon in hot and sour bitter melon sauce, some brown Orren eyes may twinkle with much amusement.

(Technical aside: It is generally acknowledged that any enchanter could, with sufficient time and attention, get good enough to perform any enchantment. However, Esory expects to have the skill to make the Cupboards within the decade. I suppose that I could arrange a teleportation cupboard in a decade or two, if I studied Mutoc and Locador a lot ... but it wouldn't be Insidious. Neither in the sense of sneaking through most barriers against teleportation, nor in the sense of being relatively safe to use near other teleport gates.)

So, Esory has probably learned this whole class already, at home, doubtless before she learned to talk. Prof. Spreen, being the merciless demon of the strictly-ruled waxboard that she is, would not let her out the class and into the next one any more than she would have let me out of it. Of course, I wouldn't have let me out of it either; all the gods could have loved pink polka dots for all I knew until this afternoon.

(Technical aside: Prof. Spreen does come into the classroom eight minutes early to take a hot glazed ceramic brick to the waxboard to smooth it off. And she does have a sort of wooden device, a rack of three boards and a comb of eight teeth, that she uses to draw parallel lines on the waxboard before she writes. I like Prof. Alzagond much better in most ways, but Prof. Alzagond never cleans the waxboard before or after class, which means that important diagrams are crunched and curled up into little corners where there's some smooth wax from the last teacher.)

Hiring a Maid [5 Trandary 4261]

Havune and I looked around, asked around.

Darkwad is a Rassimel man, about the same age as me. He has recently come to Vheshrame, and is trying to find a job. He has no great degree of experience. He is an excellent cook -- we invited him to cook lunch for us and eat it with us, and he looks like he knows which end of a knife is which. As for cleaning: he can put things on shelves; he can sweep floors; he can wash dishes; he can hoist a basket of clothes to a washer's. These are not things demanding great skill. He seems quite eager -- I gather he has not been eating as well as he might like, since he got to town.

Jarmiet is a Cani woman, perhaps my own age or perhaps a bit more. She is the maid of our Evil Neighbors, and until First Day or so she was the maid of a count's daughter of Psent who got nervous about something and zoomed home to Psent at the end of last semester. Jarmiet cooks poorly by Ghirbis' standards, which is to say, Jarmiet generally avoids mice and arhoolie leaves. Havune tasted her pocker soup, and declares it ordinary and acceptable. Havune also inspected a just-tidied room in Ghirbis' apartment, and declared that ordinary and acceptable too. Floosh knows her and gives her a good name.

Tsevehandra is a Rassimel woman, some sixty or seventy [World Tree] years old. She cleans for a building of Orren mostly down the street. She is looking around for more reliable clients -- specifically, she wants to drop one set of clients and find a better one. She would not let us see her current clients, for that would be telling them. (I snuck over and glanced in windows under the cover of night. They looked acceptable.) She has been tending student apartments for forty years or so. She has no visible enthusiasm. Floosh knows her and gives her a good name, too.

So, we have two questions now:

1. Who is allowed to vote on this? Just me, since I am paying? Havune and Dustweed? Tethezai, who does not actually live here? Dubaille, who is actually living here but the rest of us dislike?
2. And then, which one should we choose?

Seeks-Strenata

Strenata and I were to go for a stroll in Ghaln-Yastrou Park this evening, the hour before sunout. I thought we had agreed to meet at my home, since it is, after all, between hers and Ghaln-Yastrou Park. I was ready -- I swear it! A third of an hour after that time, Strenata was nowhere near me.

Perhaps, I thought, she had thought we were to meet at her home? I flew as fast as I could, up and over, and scratched. Oonspath answered.

Oonspath:"Why hallo to you, Sythyry. What brings you here at this hour of the night?"

Me:"I was looking for Seeks-St.-Trebulican's-Classroom, or whatever she's called today."

Oonspath:"She went out riding with Nestrune an hour or two ago. She should be back shortly, unless, of course, she is not. Don't look so horrified, Sythyry! Anyone could be hungry after going riding, and especially if she forgot dinner beforehand."

Nestrune? Nestrune Kreslink, Crown Prince of Daukrhame? If there's anyone less suitable for Strenata than Nestrune currently attending the Academy, I cannot think of who -- he is the highest of rank of anyone I know personally, and obnoxious as well.

Well, if she uses him as a riding companion, I suppose I can hardly complain, for I cannot ride. Still, I can stroll as well as any other prime, and I do think she should have come to me for that.

Walking with Hunter-Style-Slayer [5 Trandary 4261]

Of course she had gone to my home before stopping back at hers, while I was waiting for her at hers. Havune told her where I was, so she flew (literally - she has grafted a flight spell) back to her apartment. She flew the long way, getting a bit lost in the trees and buildings.

At the same time, I was quite annoyed with Oonspath, who had been flirting with me as I waited. He flirts with a quiet, self-confident energy, and he is certainly physically appealing to anyone who appreciates Orren, but his entire etiquette and manner of speech must have been dipped in honey-oil when he was young. I find him unpleasant at the best of times -- even before he cheated me at the Sloop -- and while waiting for Strenata he was wholly unendurable. "I don't know that she's coming back this evening, Sythyry. But you could do at least as well with what's available." (For extra insult, he didn't even seem to care that much whether he caught me or not.) After hearing that, I flew home the short way, threw myself in the fireplace, and, naturally, missed Strenata in transit.

And when I had more or less buried myself in ashes, she dashed in the front door, wearing riding leathers and a card saying "Hunter-Style-Slayer" in her hat, apologizing out of her mouth, nose, and both ears. She was very, very sorry! She had been out riding with Nestrune. The sun was going out more slowly than usual, making it hard to judge the hour. Nestrune had insisted on stopping for brandy at Lumber Swalle's, and, when she had mentioned that she had not eaten since noontime, he ordered roast pockers hunter-style for each of them. Over her protests -- she had even mentioned her plans with me. "Zie has considerably more time than I do, by virtue of being immortal. Zie has considerably less appetite than I do, by virtue of being small. And, in any case, a Zi Ri may wait for a crown prince."

"I might two-thirds have expected you to storm out of there when he reminded you of his rank. Knocking him over with your tail on the way out."

She looked quite embarrassed, or even disturbed. "It is unwise to knock over someone who is in the midst of buying you dinner, even if the someone is just a crown prince."

"I suppose so... still, if you ever wish to have someone buy you a hunter-style roast pocker, you need not stoop to asking a crown prince. A slight hint to a Zi Ri could easily suffice."

"It's not my favorite dish, to be sure. Neither do I fully understand why hunters are expected to carry with them butter, cream, snails, and fresh marjoram. Cognac, garlic, and crushed pepper are at least easier to stuff in a backpack whilst they traipse around the woods."

"And as a mark of non-favoritism you proclaimed yourself the slayer of it?", I asked. I was still more than a little jealous.

"I was not entirely pleased at sitting there eating it, rather than getting back. I ripped off a wing of it, rather than cutting it, and thereby flung a snail halfway across into Lord Parantharam's ale. Which caused further delays, as Nestrune must needs apologize to him at length, discuss dressage, and buy him more ale. After which he stuck the name in my hat himself, without asking."

"Strenata? I didn't know that you let people change your name around. I've never seen anyone else do it."

"No, I don't."

"Yet Nestrune did."

"Rather without asking me. And I've been too busy to change it again, rushing around to find you."

We bickered a bit about whose fault that was -- an exchange that did neither of us any credit, and which I would much rather forget. In the end I wound up apologizing. I am not entirely sure why, or for what.

"Do you have any paper? I think I'd like another name now." She fretted around, and finally settled on Vnel. Not at all her usual style even when she is not seeking anything, but she was not happy.

"Well, O Vnel, the sun has quite gone out, with this and that. Will you still walk with me in Ghaln-Yastrou Park, so that we may romantically and elegantly collide with trees?"

"Sythyry? Could we walk together tomorrow, at leisure, instead? I daresay we'll both enjoy it more than tonight."

"I suppose we might, crown princes permitting?"

"I'm not riding with Nestrune tomorrow. The day after," she said.

I'm afraid I hissed a bit at that. With sparks.

"I am hardly obligated to excuse myself to you, Sythyry! I shall ride with whomever I need to ride; I shall walk with whomever it pleases me to walk, and..." She stopped abruptly. "And I think that no further words will do any good, tonight." She cast her flight spell again, and took off, going the long way.

And after I finish this paragraph, I will go bury myself in ashes again.

Ashes in the Morning [6 Trandary 4261]

In the morning I arose, and brushed myself off of ashes. When I actually burrow into the ashes, they never get off my feathers very well, though my sides and tail and such are clean in an instant. At times like this I contemplate an entirely scaly way of life. Such a matter must needs be delayed of course.

And after that I returned home for another long bickery voting session, and in the end we hired Jarmiet. We'll get her in the afternoons, our Evil Neighbors get her in the mornings, and we'll alternate which apartment she cooks lunch in. Which means that we'll be seeing a lot more of our Evil Neighbors, which is no bad thing.

Footnote

Desparately Seeking Spirshash [6 Trandary 4261]

I wasn't sure if I was still welcome in Spirshash's apartment on Boilingbowl Street -- or his company -- or his city -- or his pancosm. I brought a wing of zabouf and a bottle of Oskameeska at lunchtime, and made the attempt.

I am not welcome in Spirshash's apartment on Boilingbowl Street. Nor, it seems, is Spirshash. Nor Tillissa, nor Oostmarine. Actually the dwellers in the apartment were not the least bit unpleasant about it: two Herethroy of the minor nobility and a Sleeth -- a Sleeth! -- who are starting at the Academy this term, and counted themselves lucky to find a recently-emptied apartment. But they didn't know where Spirshash had gone, nor did they know what had happened in particular. For those facts I must speak to their landlord, the dread Nullfister Roogrie himself.

Nullfister Roogrie was in his offices, which are large and huge and extensive and so full of odd bits of furniture that there is barely room for a Rassimel and a Zi Ri. At first he was cordial, thinking that I had come asking for a place to rent. At second he was delighted, because we got sidetracked and discussed places to rent coming up at the end of the term -- there's a very nice house or two which will surely be free, and I could well enjoy not having any Evil Neighbors, even Evil Neighbors as personable as Ghirbis.

At third he was annoyed but, in light of the second, determined to be civil. Spirshash, Oostmarine, and Tillissa had -- in his estimation -- abducted nearly three months' rent from him, and painted horrible agonized Rassimel heads all over the apartment as well. Tillissa had promised him at one point that Oostmarine would pay; then Oostmarine got his divorcing from a batch of eels, and stopped living there, and of course did not volunteer to pay any debts. In any case, Nullfister Roogrie had nothing good to say about Oostmarine or Tillissa.

He was tolerably well-disposed towards Spirshash, who came to him intentionally and paid his share of the final rents, and explained that he would no longer live with Tillissa, but that Tillissa would surely find new roommates -- and doubtless new bedmates -- and would attend him shortly with their rents.

Of course, Tillissa did no such thing. When Nullfinster Roogrie came calling, two days ago, the apartment contained a fine assortment of: garbage, trash, junk, refuse, squalorinesses, discardimentia, and a long-dead blackscale eel, in leaves, in the (possibly misnamed) live-tank.

He did not know where to find any of the three of them.

Further exploration took me to the apartment of Real-Eel, as some form of mutual friend. There I found Real-Eel and Vingi. My spell of floating food behind me was wearing quite thin, and I was quite hungry; I offered to share the zabouf and Oskameeska with them.

The zabouf was well-received, but the Oskameeska was not. Vingi does not drink alcohol. He apologized about this at considerable length -- longer than a wing of zabouf. Despite the Yistreian reputation as endless devourers of overspiced mice and endless quaffers of overspiced liquor, Vingi eats moderately (though he does love hot spices -- Real-Eel grinned somehow at that) and has never touched liquor in his life.

Real-Eel had no great idea what had become of Spirshash or Tillissa. Oostmarine had been spotted here and there; it is thought that he is spending his nights on the couches of his more charitable friends.

"Or, surely, in the beds of his more lecherous friends," I added.

"It could be so. Though the charitable friends in question are Tallwillow, Groundsel, and ... what is their wife's name? Venom-Spikes? A Herethroy trio, fairly newly married, and rumor says they're cisaffectionate to the point of Groundsel refusing to kiss Tethezai," said Real-Eel.

"Well, and I myself have never kissed Tethezai, nor does it seem so likely any time soon -- for both our sake," I said.

"True, but she is not your patron, nor the daughter and heiress of your patron," said Real-Eel.

"I am not wholly understand or appreciate that every noble in Vheshrame is so much interested in the other species," said Vingi. "Present company outcepted!"

There was a bit of nervous giggling. Vingi added, "I am suppose that there is always allowed an exception for Zi Ri." Evidently Real-Eel has not told him everything.

I too did not tell him everything. I do not want to spoil Real-Eel's obvious happiness. Also I do not want to do anything to increase Nestrune's reputation among the Orren, for it is already too good.

So: no Spirshash, no zabouf, no clues.

A Day of One Zi Ri, Two Orren, and Three Lists[6 Trandary 2461]

Spirshash was duly tracked down by means of nipping the tails of two hundred and eighty-six mutual friends. (Or, more precisely, five, counting Real-Eel, and Vingi who had no great chance to know where Spirshash was.) Oostmarine and Tillissa had both divorced him, for, according to him, a great number of reasons, including:

1. Supporting Oostmarine. (T)
2. Supporting Tillissa. (O)
3. Making everyone think he was having an affair with me. (both)
4. Refusing to attend the funeral of Tillissa's great-aunt last year. (T)
5. Stewing buskies with green apples rather than prens, despite many -- which is to say, one -- complaint. (O)
6. Using too much cumin. Still. (T)
7. Something incomprehensible concerning gloves. (T)
8. Not tossing Oostmarine into a large pot of boiling alligators (T).
9. Stealing a very nice hat. I think was a hat stolen from Oostmarine, not the one he destroyed by mistake. Spirshash is not a gentleman when it comes to hats. (O)
10. Not paying two shares of the rent, or, perhaps, three. (T)
11. Not keeping various rumors from being rumored (O,T)

In any case, he is staying for a time with Leiska, and hopes to find a worthwhile place to live, preferably without being married to anyone living there. This leaves me a bit of an interesting question. I plan to rent a whole house. I do not plan to use a whole house by myself. I could invite Spirshash... I could also, in principle, write a letter to Accanax and invite him to send me a nendrai and a brace of ghurmanesh.

(For all monsters: that is metaphorical. Even my very famous great-grandparent is not personally friendly with Accanax. I do not know if zie has met him in person at all, even.)

Walking with Strenata

Strenata was waiting for me when I got home, wearing her green tube dress sort of a thing, a good hour before we had planned to go out walking. This, of course, was awkward in its own way. I had intended to finish the reading for tomorrow before she got there. Still, it was obviously an apology for yesterday's insults.

Strenata sniffed first. Now, getting a quarter-ounce of liquid up your nose is no great matter if you are an Orren. She didn't even have to change into water form.

Still, the effort of not changing delayed her for a second, and I sniffed during that second. And it's a somewhat dramatic thing to get a quarter-ounce of liquid up your nose if you are a Zi Ri. (I suppose that it's like getting an ounce and a half of liquid up your nose if you are Rassimel.)

I am, certainly, a gentleman, full of all etiquette and manners, passably well versed in the common and rarefied modes of good behavior. I comport myself with dignity under all circumstances. Anyone can tell from a quick glance at me or a moment's conversation that I am a noble, and properly so. With these guiding principles firmly in mind:

1. I choked.
2. I writhed around in midair.
3. I tangled my left wing in the felonway tree's hanging tendrilsome leaves.
4. I thrashed around, getting more tangled.
5. I breathed fire, which, since my nose was full of nectar, produced a cloud of brown caramelized steam.
6. I felt a pair of hands grabbing for me.
7. I responded to the grab with claws and flame.

When I ceased to thuswise act like a pissy pissy Pazi-Pazi gentleman, I discovered that I had:

1. Gotten spots of brown caramel color on Strenata's good green tube thing.
2. Clawed Strenata's hand to the point of drawing blood.
3. Set the Duke's felonway tree on fire.

A total of five leaves, two dangerous and evil and wicked blossoms, and two twigs were consumed before the Vheshrame Fire Brigade (Volunteer Auxiliary Division) were able to put it out. It would have been less, except that half of the Vheshrame Fire Brigade (Volunteer Auxiliary Division) asserted in a loud proud voice that zie had a newly-made water creation amulet for just such occasions as this, having forgotten that zie used it for a bath that morning, and, upon discovering that, the other half of the Vheshrame Fire Brigade (Volunteer Auxiliary Division) was too deep in her giggles to do much to the fire.

After the tree was out, I hastened to evacuate Vnel Strenata away to the nearest pub, where I arranged for Zouville de Mrood to be poured into her at such length and volume as to erase all remaining fires (emotional as well as physical) from the damage to hand and dress. Actually only one glass was needed.

And a scrap of paper, upon which was written "Seeks-Wild-Rushes". I think I should be pleased at that.

or, Jealousy[7 Trandary 2461]

Riding with Princes, or, Jealousy

Strictly speaking the Banquet Hall is a dining room of respectable size for eight or ten people; the Gallery of Mirrors could more properly be called the Bathing Room With A Mirror In It; the Brocade Room contains the window that still has brocade drapes around it. Also the seven sorts of cellar comprise a total of three rooms -- which is not a small cellar really. If we are to pretend to be living like the wealthy and powerful, we must give impressive names where we can.

Nullfister apologized for this and that.

This:

1. A half-barrel (total) of gnawed bones, which might reasonably have been evicted to the public places of rubbish the night before and nobody would have minded it.
2. A rick of broadsheets, greater by far than Dustweed's -- and, unlike zir modest collection, this one was prominently displayed in the very center of the parlor. Nullfister claimed that a very charming and adequate table lies under it. Ghirbis disagrees: a table must be very strong to support such a pile of papers, and nothing so strong could possible be charming. (Unless it were enchanted, but then we'd see it.)
3. A crate, in one of the unoccupied bedrooms -- one which needs a name before anyone can live in it -- a crate which once contained fruits, and still contains small crawling insects who, presumably, wish that the crate still contained fruit. It was, according to a Cani, the possession of a former resident who had decamped suddenly, leaving many debts and a few possessions behind, which Nullfister had agreed to clean up and which Nullfister had not done.
4. A modest supply of unwashed leather stewpots. (This is familiar from our current home. Ghirbis and I made a pact that, if one of us invites Dubaille to live at Quelldrie House, the other should drive seven hundred and eighty-eight nails into the inviter. In any case Jarmiet will be around.)
5. At least a dozen further displays of evidence that, although Havune is fastidious, that is his personal perversion, not a species quality, and some Cani are otherwise.

That:

1. A partially-washed, partially-dressed Cani woman sitting on the couch in the Brocade Room, reading about forms of deitropism in growing vines, who growled at us as we came to look at the room.
2. Four Cani wearing three dressing gowns (in total) in one of the bedroom, who immediately snarled at Nullfister. There was some rather loud and angry and almost violent discussion, including forceful statements that (1) the Cani had agreed to pay their overdue rent by the end of the second week of the month; (2) it was only the 16th, not the 18th; (3) it had already been agreed that the extra Cani living there would not pay additional rent if they cleaned the place up, and (4) it was not yet the Hour of Judgement on the cleaning, and (5) since the overdue rent included rent on one of the two rooms not being used (except, minimally, for storage) and which Nullfister could potentially rent if he weren't so wicked and cruel and incompetent and vile, items (1-4) should be given proper consideration. Nullfister started off agreeing with (1-5), but after getting his third shouting-at by the Cani after expressing loud and angry and almost violent agreement, shouted back that (6) the Cani were not to be living there any more after the end of the term, (7) if huge piles of junk and discardimentia were still there, the Cani would be paying for their junking and discarding; and (8) he, Nullfister, was quite serious about the Cani being gone, and indeed he was showing the house to other prospective renters.

The last item did not endear us to the Cani in any way, it may be added.

But on the whole, Quelldrie House is a fairly nice if a bit battered old building, with a bit of a courtyard inside it with a flowering pear tree and a flowering pren tree, and a little fountain that could probably be made to fount with a bit of work. And Nullfister gave in detail his plans for sending the seven Herethroy who work for him there, with buckets and scrubs and mops and brooms and basket-packs and scrapers and soap and candles and fumigatories and many other mighty implements, so that in a day of work it will be both clean and pleasant no matter what the Cani do to it in the meantime. We do not entirely believe him in every detail, but probably he will do well enough.

So Ghirbis and I committed our entire allowances for lodging, and somewhat more besides. Now we need three or four or five more people -- we each will not share a bedroom (save by our own choosing), but perhaps some people will want to.

Oh, and we arranged with Jarmiet that she should be the maid for the whole of Quelldrie House, with no other duties.

Footnote

Met by the Horses, Captured by the Guards [16 Trandary 4261]

Since, by this point, I knew her name, it seemed almost inevitable that I should, somehow, sometime, meet Shadowfrog. One does not ordinarily meet nonprimes wandering the streets of a major and mighty city -- although horses are somewhat of an exception, I suppose, and pigeons and cats and various other animals as well. Shadowfrog is, however, well-trained, and well-mannered, and well-stabled, and unlikely to go lurking on the city streets alone. So, after acquiring (1) Quelldrie House, and (2) two skewers of grilled non-Yistreian-style mice from Darkwad, I also acquired (3) Seeks-Kaleidescopes Strenata, (4) a sort of a lighthearted apology-like thing, and (5) an invitation for a short ride.

I knew that Shadowfrog was a charger. Somehow, though, it had not occurred to me that Shadowfrog was a charger.

For those of the less equestrian bent, I should remind you that, of the dozen or so riding beasts, most are fairly gentle and calm and herbivorous and unaggressive and inoffensive. But one of them is fierce and excitable and omnivorous and aggressive and offensive, to the point of having a hooked falconsome beak and talons on its forelegs and about as many feathers as I have -- though, truth to tell, feathers do not make one fierce. I should know. Raar!

I am used to living in a world full of the most alarming and terrible dangers. At any moment, a grilled mouse could be stuffed with arhoolie leaves and chilis -- a dean could break my forepaw -- I could be pounced by Pazi-Pazi -- I could be kidnapped by an ulgrane -- I could fall in love with an Orren. Still, this was the first time that I have actually ridden on something that could, if it were annoyed or even peckish, kill me with one snap of its beak.

Shadowfrog is, however, a most even-tempered and placid and constant beast -- far ahead of Seeks-Kaleidescopes in that regard, and honestly far ahead of me too. I levitated in front of her face so she could look at me and smell me and get used to me, and she blinked her left eye three times and her right eye eleven times, and shrugged, and decided that my papers were entirely in order and that if Seeks-Kaleidescopes thought I shouldn't be chopped in half, she wouldn't exert herself to give me any chopping.

So, the groom put Strenata's fancy saddle on Shadowfrog's back. The saddle was large, and leather and wood, and intricately tooled, and had a very falconsome head on it, with bits of glass for eyes and little wingy ears and a long hooked sharp fierce beak that reached almost to the back of Shadowfrog's neck Seeks-Kaleidescopes hopped up, and I flew up to sit on the saddle horn, between Strenata's belly and Shadowfrog's neck, which seemed like a generally good place to be.

The saddle horn promptly collapsed.

A second or two later, Seeks-Kaleidescopes collapsed too. In her laughing.

Strenata:"Sythyry, you can't sit on a decorative saddle horn."

Me:"How was I to know it was a decorative saddle horn?"

Strenata:"It's got a big sharp beak on it right against the horse's neck. It can't be solid, or the horse might break her spine if she reared up."

I poked at the long hooked sharp fierce beak. It was made of very soft leather, waxed against the rain, but not much thicker than my wings. There's a central flap of thicker leather so it stands up and looks solid and fierce.

Strenata picked me up and plopped me on Shadowfrog's head. "You can sit there."

I looked down at Shadowfrog's huge beak. I don't think she could eat me in one bite, but surely in two...

At which point, a deep Orren voice called out, "Hah! Captured you!" And an exceedingly ominous Orren man poured out of the next stall, a spell twinkling in his left hand, a distinctly enchanted short sword with a ruby on the hilt at his side, an even more distinctly enchanted fan in a holster at his belt on his other side, and a look of distinct satisfaction in his eyes, and an unusual and complicated version of the city guard insignia on his hat.

Strenata barked! She tossed a paralysis spell at him!

I calmly and rationally cast Lizard's Envy on myself, and flew off to hide on a yilliat branch and meditate upon the situation. This seemed sensible. One does not want to sit upon the head of a potentially-excitable and potentially-fatal charger when a pair of Orren are having a spontaneous spell-duel in the yard.

After some weeks of meditation -- admittedly, very short weeks -- I had tentatively decided that Strenata's quite vocal disparagements of nobility had come to the ears of some important noble, and that she was about to be arrested. I had even begun to make plans to try to talk Hezimikkinen into somehow getting her un-arrested, assuming Hezimikkinen weren't the one who had her arrested in the first place...

But then the Orren man laughed. "My apologies, O Zi Ri! I would come over to greet you more properly, but my niece has seen fit to paralyze my left leg."

I revised my plans while gargling some words which might have been socially appropriate or might have been Yistreian epic pornography for all I knew. Hezimikkinen was not going to be much help in such a situation.

Explanations were made. Rafters were descended from. Legs were unparalyzed -- that spell only lasts a minute or two in any case. Introductions were performed: "I am Kaim-Su Connecticality Strenata -- a name which I have worn for longer than my niece ... " He peered at her hatband. "Seeks-Kaleidescopes has been alive, I might add."

"And what did you mean when you said you captured us?"

Esory asks, "Interesting question. Why can't magic resolve Dustweed's gender "issues", anyway?"

There is, of course, a straightforward-enough Mutoc Corpador spell which changes sex temporarily, and a Mutoc Sustenoc Corpador one that changes it permanently (until the spell is broken). These will work for appearance, and for day-to-day physical functioning, and various other things.

But actually getting the new sex right is another matter. I am not a healer, and not from a multi-sexed species, and don't really know the difference between wrong and right in this matter, and my Corpador class didn't exactly cover this topic. But my vague memory is that any reasonable spell (or, I presume, any reasonable enchantment) risks some problems.

1. The spell will be readily apparant to anyone who looks at zir with magic sense. Not that people will stare at zir on the street, but city guards will check zir when zie comes or goes from the city; the Duke's bodyguards will glance at zir routinely; any professional mage will inspect zir; anyone who has practiced magic for three hundred years will notice without even trying. In short, it would be obvious that zie were a transformed both-female -- or at least a transformed something. Actually the other choices people would think of for the transformed something are much worse. I don't know that Hezimikkinen could reliably tell the difference between a Herethroy-turned-Herethroy and a nendrai-turned-Herethroy. In any case, it could not be kept secret without further magic -- and one does not wear spells to conceal magic, not in polite society.
2. Some spell-resexed people are not fertile at all. Others are fertile, but their children are often born broken -- sometimes quite badly broken.
3. The transformation, while permanent, could be broken. It is not a real effect, one which changes fundamental nature. I must admit to being hazy on the details here.
4. It could also interfere with other Corpador spells cast on her. Healing spells present a natural confluence of interference -- healing spells try to restore their subjects to their former state, which of course means an assault on the transformation. They are unlikely to wholly reverse the transformation, but (1) they will spend force doing that rather than healing, and (2) A 1/12-broken sex change spell is probably far, far worse than either a whole one or none at all.

(Incidentally, all of this applies, mutatis mutandis, to my feathers, especially the long-term ones. The long-term feather spell is a good ten complexity higher than it strictly needs to be, so that it behaves nicely. I turned off the short-term one when the healer was working on my paw.)

There is, presumably, ritual magic which changes sex properly. There's a similar ritual spell for breed, Purebreed Puppy; the sex one can't be more than ten or fifteen complexity higher. I don't know for sure that anyone in Vheshrame even has the ritual. In any case it will not be cheap.

(On second thought, there would need to be seven sex change rituals, one for each species that has several sexes, wouldn't there? But I'm pretty sure that roughly the same ritual would work for whichever changes you wanted to do.)

And, ultimately, Dustweed bears social traces of being a both-female. Everyone around here knows zie is -- and every Herethroy seems to be able to tell at a glance. I don't know how they do it; it's something about zir mannerisms.

Zie could change zir name, and get a permanent sex-change spell, and move to another city, and give up zir title and zir lands and all, and spend however long it takes learning to act like a proper co-lover. Then zie'd probably be treated about as well as any ugly commoner foreign co-lover would be -- except of course that everyone would be suspicious of zir (for having complex spells on all the time), and if zie got discovered, zie would likely be actively lynched and killed instead of just casually beaten up now and then. I certainly wouldn't do it if I were zir.

What I want to know is, why doesn't zie hire a vicious Khtsoyis bodyguard to float around after zir and beat up people who try to attack her? (Answer, alas, is that zir parents won't pay for it, and zie's not in charge of the family finances yet.)

The Quest for Roommates, 2 [24 Trandary 4261]

Ghirbis:"Sythyry! You're at the top of that yilliat tree, I know it for a sureness! Come down, descend, return to the earth and the boardwalk and the windowsill, for we must converse and discuss and, should all go well, hobnob!"

Me:[flying down]"You speak alarmingly and at great length!"

Ghirbis:"Oratory class -- if I cannot practice upon you, upon whom may I practice? The seller of lowly leeks and ramps and scallops in the market..."

Me:"Scallions, not scallops."[A literal translation would be, "prens and apples and souffles" -- " "pears, not souffles". -bb]

Ghirbis:"Scallions, of course! A seven-pronged iridescent licorice-stuffed curse upon the differences between the Yistreain and Choinxeian dialects -- they render all communication impossible and ineffectual and perhaps even inaccurate!"

Me:"Floosh."

Ghirbis:"Floosh?"

Me:"You can practice on Floosh."

Ghirbis:"A most redoubtable and invulnerable plan. In any case, we must discuss roommates."

Me:"I've had some slight disappointments. And mutations."

Ghirbis:"I, also, have had some slight disappointments. No mutations though."

Me:"Well, then. Vingi is content remaining where he is at the moment, at least until his lease is over, which will be somewhat under a year but not very much under a year."

Ghirbis:[singing]"Vingi is content -- octagonally content -- lazy and chubby and easy and content -- content, content! He shall not move, he shall not stir, he shall not budge, he is content!" She does this from time to time; all oratory students do.

Me:"Also Broon will not move from where he rests now -- and you must not sing about that! -- though he suggested that his fiance Anoof might very well share a room with Narngi."

Ghirbis:[singing]"I must not sing of Broon -- I shall not sing of Broon -- of Broon no chanting shall curl my tongue -- of Broon no tune may be begun."

Me:"I haven't tracked down Real-Eel yet. How are you doing?"

Ghirbis:"Narngi is generally interested, though of course she would prefer not to be the only Cani to be found. Claryelle is not interested. She spat -- she hissed -- she bit -- she clawed -- she assaulted me with sparks and lightnings and flashes and boomage."

Me:"That violent?"

Ghirbis:"In Claryelle you do not have your best friend, nor your heart's confidante, nor the carpenter to build your bedroom roof, nor the mighty hero to rescue your kidnapped half-sibling."

Me:"My half-sibling could char-broil half of Vheshrame. And marinate it first. Zie rarely needs zir rescuing."

Ghirbis:"Claryelle's opinion of you could also char-broil half of Vheshrame."

Me:"That bad? For rooming with Dustweed?"

Ghirbis:"I exaggerate slightly for oratorical prowess. Her exact words on the topic were, 'Sythyry is only moderately annoying, but zir friends are not to be tolerated around the house in which I live.' So, as you can see, she will chase you to the very tip of Choinxeia to have her revenge on you."

Me:"It is hard to adequately express my delight at this. At least without using vulgarity."

Ghirbis:"Vulgarity in Quelldrie House will only be permitted in the pantry!"

Me:"Far too strict! Vulgarity must be allowed in the parlor as well, as long as you or I have given the vulgarian a formal feather-decorated Staff of Low Language."

Ghirbis:"Ordinarily I recommend absolute strictness and will utterly defy your request ..."

Me:"Deny!"

Ghirbis:"Deny and defy both! But this time I understand the sensibility of your position. I shall be plucking you directly for the feathers!"

Me:"That you shall not!"

Ghirbis:"That I shall not! Still, we are not doing very well collecting minions to assuage our debts. We have, at most, half a room committed."

Me:"Well, we must ask Dubaille. No further choices remain to us in the entire city."

Ghirbis:"Now it is your time to swim with the boiling alligators."

Me:"We shall make Pazi-Pazi pay rent."

Ghirbis:"Ah! This will solve all serious difficulties. Still, rich as she may be, she will take up no bedroom -- let us rent the remaining three bedrooms none-the-less, and thereby become wealthy beyond our wildest dreams."

Me:"A most inspired plan."

At Table with the Sleeth [25 Trandary 4260]

There are better ways to share a table with a Sleeth, and there are worse ways. Sharing a worktable with Rhedwy is, alarmingly, one of the better ways.

For those of you unfamiliar with Great Enchantment -- which, I should imagine, includes most primes and all monsters -- an enchantment starts with a longish ritual. For a small working, such as we are doing in class, the ritual has many short pieces with breaks between them. One may leave the classroom to get lunch, and one need not be extraordinarily anxious about getting back within the third-of-an-hour. Still, we did choose Candledance, from which one can escape fairly quickly.

Inevitably this means that the Enchantment students go out all together. Inevitably this means that tablemates are seated next together. Inevitably this exposes me to one of the worse ways of sharing a table with a Sleeth.

There is, of course, at least one still worse way: when one is on the table as a dish, instead of simply a dining companion.

Zi Ri can levitate themselves. Sleeth can, without spending cley, levitate any Corpador material, up to a few pounds in weight -- meat and bone, leather, ivory, beeswax, parchment, and, especially, meat and bone. This is crucial for them, as their forepaws are weapons rather than organs of manipulation.

Even so, they are not particularly neat eaters. Rhedwy would choose a skewer of grilled wudgeon in parsley sauce -- carefully avoiding the hot and sour bitter melon sauce, for Sleeth noses are as subtle and interrogative as Cani noses, and not nearly so well constrained by manners. The waiter would squirt the wudgeon with a bit more melted butter, and nervously set it in front of Rhedwy, not getting any closer to her than zie had to.

Rhedwy:"I never eat a waiter at Candledance! It takes too long and the charge is too high. Also I do not think I can finish a whole Herethroy, so there is the surcharge for leftovers."

The waiter was not greatly comforted. Zie stopped bringing us wine, even. I tried to complain about that, but Esory reminded me that one should not drink much in the middle of a Greater Enchantment ritual.

Also, Sleeth cannot easily pay for their own lunches. Rhedwy can well and away afford lunch, but actually paying is a difficult matter for her. Coins are, of course, amber, and amber is, of course, not Corpador. A leather purse with coins in it is too much Herbador for a Sleeth's meagre instinctive Corpador magic to do much with.

So this is what she did. She turned her head and reached into a saddlebag, and fished out her purse with her fangs, and a smooth, slightly curved broken bone about a foot long with her RuCo. She tugged the purse-laces to open it, and carefully set it on the table.

Thelvion offered to help at this point, and she said, "I have prets and I have fiaps. Perhaps back in class you take a cork out of a winebottle for me?"

I don't know whether the curved broken bone is a pret or a fiap. But evidently such a bone can be used to poke an amber triangle out of a purse using only RuCo. She held the purse open with her mouth and pushed the lozen coin that had come out at the same time back in with a paw, and then tugged the strings to close the purse.

If I ever get crippled that way -- e.g., if a Sleeth eats my fingers off in a fit of jealousy or evenness-making -- I will do what Rhedwy is doing in class, and make a single talisman that can rule Corpador and Herbador, and Aquador as well. Durudor would be useful too, but that would not be a one-week working, nor do I have Caathestaa's power with it.

Well, "rule" is overstated. When she finishes, she will be able to pick up a log or a tray or a purse, but she will not have such fine control as to, say, pick a single third-lozen coin out of a purse. Neither will it be particularly mighty: I daresay it could carry some twenty or thirty pounds. And of course it will only be usable three times a day: we are still doing enchantments that fit into a single week, and we have not learned techniques for doing extra enchantment in a single week yet. I helpfully pointed this out to Rhedwy.

Rhedwy:"The Spreen Rassimel also agrees with you on this. Still ... two years ago Paarhan and Kaim-Su and I are limping away from an angry this and an angry that, through tunnels which a very large worm burrows through the Verticals soil. Upon us falls suddenly a great heap of stinking half-rotten taupe fungus! Kaim-Su is immediately unconscious from being struck. Paarhan is largely buried, and he does not have any spare cley to escape. So I am the one who must dig and dig in half-rotten taupe cave fungus, and I who must tug logs of fungus off of Rassimel and Orren until they can squirm out. It is not the delicious taste! Gladly would I bite three fewer logs of it! Even the memory of it is not so delicious ... O Herethroy waiter whom I do not wish to pay for eating, now you must give me the sausage with blue curry sauce. No weaker dish burns the memory of that flavor away."

She does talk that way. And that long, too.

Back in class, of course, I stared at her ritual tools. An istricary or a ogomtacus can be made of ivory as easily as wood, of course. An isednat cannot be; she held it very clumsily in a loop of tail, and she dropped it and spoiled that half-hour of ritual.

She caught me looking, then. "Sleeth are very patient. Probably because we do not live as long as other primes." And she did it again, holding the isednat in her tail, and got it right.

(Which they don't. Most primes can expect to live a hundred years [70 terrestrial], more or less. Sleeth are shorter-lived than that, even. Though I doubt that so many die of old age.)

Wet Dreams [26 Trandary 4261]

Spirshash used to enjoy them. Perhaps he still does; I haven't spoken to him much of late.

Real-Eel and Vingi have been overheard discussing them eagerly in Cafe du Fronde.

Strenata has rather more to do than the other Orren I know, but she is known to enjoy them in her spare time too. And she was chattering excitedly to me about them.

So, well, if I'm going to keep dating Orren this year -- any Orren -- I thought I had better read some of them myself. I borrowed the first collection from Real-Eel, and sat in a treetop, and read the whole cursed sticky-thick thing.

Water Tree, by three authors pseudonomynously known as Arvolest, Bevolest, and Cnauvolest, is a series of short stories about the Water Tree. Which is a not-so-distant universe, in which the World Tree is largely covered in water -- where Choinxeia has two main rivers near Vheshrame, say, Water-Choinxeia has thirty. Seven of the prime species are different, adapted for water; only the Orren remain unchanged. Everyone gets cley back at midnight, except for the few heroic people. The Water-Khtsoyis are the dominant species.

In each story, Arvolest, Bevolest, and/or Cnauvolest slip accidentally over to the Water Tree -- by a different preposterous route each time -- and must solve some difficult puzzle or perform some act of heroism before they can return. Conveniently they are all three Orren, so they don't have to explain what a real Rassimel, say, is doing there.

The authors assert that the Water Tree is real. All the stories are presented as fact. Vingi believes them. Real-Eel and Strenata are quietly undecided.

I don't believe them a bit. I don't feel like getting into an argument with a friend about it, so I'll rant at the monsters (apologies to real and water-primes who might be reading):

Havune and I sat at Cafe du Fronde, lapping at tisanes, nibbling on little triangular pastries stuffed with little dabs of this or that potent spice. It is the first anniversary of the death of his great-uncle Darmian, and he told me of the deeds of Darmian, and which of the wives and mates and marriage-partners of Darmian still remain, and many stories.

But that's Havune's story, for Havune's journal if he has one.

I don't have many ancestors at all. I think Havune is engaged to more people than I have ancestors... My ~mother~ Eitharheinen and ~father~ Dzeriaunet; my ~mother~'s parents Glikkonen and Verehinga; my ~father~'s parents Tnirvakuovvka and Myrihaaveinen; and Tnirvakuovvka's parents Caathestaa and Yylhauntra. Glikkonen, Verehinga, Myrihaaveinen, Caathestaa, and Yylhauntra had no parents, unless Hren Tzen counts. That's eight ancestors, so I'm wrong about Havune, but not by too much.

Seven of them are still alive.

I never met Caathestaa. For that matter I have never met Myrihaaveinen or Yylhauntra or Verehinga either, or not to speak of, but most likely sometime I will. They have, after all, lived for 4,260 years and some days. They know, better than anyone, how to keep living, and why.

Caathestaa, I suppose, thought zie knew how to keep living too, but almost two thousand years ago zie discovered zie was wrong.

A digression on reincarnation

Hmm. I could even be Caathestaa. I don't know how many Zi Ri have died on the World Tree -- a few hundred perhaps -- or how often Hren Tzen chooses to reincarnate a dead one as a live one. But I have read (in an introductory theology book, for what that's worth) that the gods love their first-created the best, and often reincarnate them.

Or perhaps that's just an excuse for all the people who think they're someone famous who has been reincarnated. Not very many people have the strength of magic to curl their necks through time and see into a spirit's previous life, and those that do, often have better things to do than indulge random lunatics' curiousity.

(On some consideration: I would never admit this to anyone for real, but one would think that a reincarnated two-thousand-year-old would have some traces of wisdom still remaining, even though their ancient memory is entirely gone, so, well, that's a vote against it.)

Caathestaa

The one-year anniversary of Caathestaa's death was two thousand sixty-five years ago, give or take one depending on what date zie died. I'm sure that my ~father~ knows the date, but my ~father~ is not readily to hand, so I will leave that as a mystery for the while.

Caathestaa was one of the first-created, but not one of the most famous ones. Dustweed's copy of History of the Firstmost Days, by Ickserio ky Vernioff, mentions zir name three times in the index. (I wonder what Havune would say if he heard that I had to look up my great-grandparent in a book. I can't imagine any Cani not knowing the color and scent of a great-grandparent's fur, even if they had missed each other by a long time ... but a long time for Cani isn't a long time for Yylhauntra and Tnirvakuovvka and Dzeriaunet. I rather suspect that Yylhauntra at least still mourns on Caathestaa's deathday.)

Caathestaa was a Herbador mage who strengthened spears and constructed catapults for the Herethroy and the Cani in their first struggles against the cyarr. Zie was one of the first Durudor mages who managed to do anything with actual metal -- and not because of any great gift with Durudor or metalworking, but because zie spent a hundred years making pottery, seeking the little flecks of clay in thick soil with Durudor, and from all that work got to be good enough at Durudor to be able to work the little scraps of metal gathered from nut-husks and the needles of certain bushes. Zie wasn't the first one to actually create metal, making smithcraft much more of an organized craft than the haphazard amusement depending on the luck of the gathering than it used to be. It was a Rassimel who first created metal, a Rassimel whom ky Vernioff mentions by name three times. It was another Rassimel who first developed a pattern spell to create metal, a Rassimel who ky Vernioff gives three whole pages.

Ky Vernioff doesn't say how Caathestaa died, since that wasn't part of the firstmost days. There might be family stories, but I haven't spent any great amount of time with Dzeriaunet my ~father~, much less Tnirvakuovvka my grandparent who is Caathestaa's child, so I don't know from them.

I was curious, though. The Academy library is open at night, for Rassimel mostly, though the fee is a whole lozen. There, if one looks around, one can find a Registry of Zi Ri. (Incidentally, not a complete registry. This version is three years younger than me, but doesn't list me.)

Caathestaa never went very far from home. Zie was a smith in Tauvane, only a handful of miles from the Birthing Field. (Where could be safer than Tauvane?) In 2,196, some Cani friends took zir skyboating. (What could be safer than skyboating, for a Zi Ri?) Lightning touched the ship, setting it ablaze. (What could be less dangerous than a fire, for a Zi Ri?) The boat could not fly well; the captain chose to crash it into the lake, either to put out the flames or to cushion the landing somewhat, or because he had no choice of where to land. And Caathestaa drowned from that. Nobody else died.

There aren't any stories about zir I could find in the Vheshrame Academy library, and I looked for two hours and more. I suppose if I went to Tauvane, the ancient city whose name means "New Town", I could burrow around in old old records and find more -- or, perhaps, meet a scholar, surely Rassimel, who knows a hundred times more about my family than I do.

Darmian was nobody in particular. Havune's family is high enough, but Darmian was nobody important in it. He used to carve little toy guntries for his nephews, only they had four legs because he wasn't good enough to make six. He wore a plum-colored hat that his wife had knitted for him, and when he grew old he would sit by the fire and sprinkle pepper in his kathia, and everyone teased him for that. He told silly stories about a talking enstarba, and his front left canine tooth was made of meng, and ... oh, a thousand things more. After hearing Havune talk for a while, Darmian is practically an old friend of mine, whom I just happen never to have met.

It's piss for brandy that I know Darmian better than Caathestaa.

Doing the Wrong Thing [26 Trandary 4261]

There are two aerial prime species: Zi Ri and Khtsoyis. But there is a third species that is fairly likely to be found at the tops of trees, and that is Herethroy. Some of them like to climb, and I imagine that with six arms and legs they are half again better at it than the four-limbed peoples.

(Actually, Sleeth are fairly adept at climbing, what with innate Ruloc Corpador levitation and all, and they like to jump and climb as well. So I suppose I might see my lab partner in a tree at some point as well.)

In any case, the one in the yilliat tree in the little park on the edge of campus was Dustweed, not Rhedwy.

Me:"Hallo, Dustweed. What has treed you today?"

Dustweed:"Just me."

Me:"You treed yourself?"

Dustweed:[smiling a bit]"More or less. I have decided to mope about mundane things on the ground, and about abstractions and other etherealities when I am higher up."

Me:[landing next to zir]"What is the Mope du Jour?"

Dustweed:"Nothing unusual. Wondering if I should leave Tethezai."

Me:"Oh, dear. Over that Herethroy boy?"

Dustweed:"Not that. It doesn't hurt anymore; and the next will hurt less; and the one after less still. In any case that is a topic for moping about under a flowering bush, not in a tree, by my new rule. "

Me:"I suppose I am starting to see the use of the new rule... Why then?"

Dustweed:"You may have noticed that she is a Rassimel...?"

Me:"Not of my own observation, but I had heard such in rumors. And mutterings of gossip. And innuendoes -- especially innuendoes, now that I think of it."

Dustweed:"And you bay have noticed that I am a Herethroy...?"

Me:"What, you, a Herethroy? Oh, by seven staring gods! Who could imagine it! ... "

Dustweed:"Sythyry, I shall conceal it no longer -- I am a veritable six-limbed hard-shelled beantennaed Herethroy. And now you know."

Me:"Dustweed, you can't be that upset, can you, if you're using court styling of your words."

Dustweed:"Oh, I'm not upset at all. I just have to have this conversation with myself every week or month."

Me:"Oh, about if you are really transaffectionate? Sometimes you have that one with me, too. "

Dustweed:"Exactly."

Me:"How is the decision of the day?"

Dustweed:"Humiliating, as usual."

Me:"That's too bad!"

Dustweed:"Not at all. Humiliating that, well, my ... heart (let us say) responds so eagerly to her ... smile (let us say). The other choice would be wrenching: much worse. In any case I am well used to humiliation."[Zie indicated zir midriff.]

Me:"Humiliating that you are transaffectionate, wrenching that you are leaving your first love? That can't be pleasant, Dustweed."

Dustweed:"It's not my favorite mope, Sythyry. You can see why I prefer not to dirty the bedroom with it anymore. Well, that and the bedroom reminds me of her a little. Up her it doesn't."

Me:"I wish you could settle this mope for all time. You've got the status to sleep with whoever you like, in any case."

Dustweed:"Yes and no. I'm country, not city, and that's not really good behaviour in a Herethroy village. And even a city noble can sleep with whoever zie wants, but actually falling in love isn't really right."

Me:"That's how it is? I must admit that I haven't checked on the full rules. Even the sleeping-with part seems a bit challenging now."

Dustweed:"If you must mope about that, find your own yilliat tree. This one is consecrated to the consummated."

Me:"You really don't sound very mopey today."

Dustweed:"Good, for I am just a little bit mopey. This was a scheduled mope, after all. That kind is always gentler than the spontaneous, impromptu thunderstorm of a mope."

Me:"Scheduled?"

Dustweed:"Meditation, perhaps. I promised myself that I would think each week about why I am doing whatever I am doing with Tethezai, and make sure I like the answer well enough to keep doing it."

Me:"That's ... you're a very organized sort of pervert."

Dustweed:"Oh, I learned it from Tethezai. She's got all sorts of booklets and charts and graphs and suchlike. Very Rassimel!"

Me:"Really?"

Dustweed:[laughing]"No. She just falls in love or lust a lot. Anyways, I think this mope's gotten all spoiled, so I'm going back to the ground now."

Me:"Spoiled?"

Dustweed:"Nothing ruins a perfectly good mope like a bit of laughing."

And zie climbed down, and we parted ways until the eveningtime when, well, zie stopped at home to eat before going out with zir still-a-girlfriend.

Making Things Harder For Myself [27 Trandary 4261]

I have decided, perhaps wisely and perhaps just precipitiously, to do an extended practicum in Enchantment. By "extended practicum" I mean "something that my famous grandparent would assign to one of his lesser journeymen without really thinking about it": a two-week enchantment, of as high a challenge as I can handle. Which means, in this case, a complexity-10 Mutoc Corpador spell, usable once a day. This is particularly fancy for me, now, because I cannot actually do that the routine way. I am going to have to do some clever design work.

(For all monsters: complexity 5 is the simplest sort of spell. Complexity 10 is the second-simplest -- but still, it is more than Join Bones or Age the Slaughtered Calf (which makes leather a bit bigger). If I were anyone else, I would make a Ready Adulterer talisman, which renders the user infertile (and nothing else) for some hours. But of course I don't have a conspecific, or any chance of accidental fertility, or even a lover. Mage's Mask would just be silly, too... Maybe Sleeth Eyes to see in the dark. Or Manicurist's Lament, if I want to claw people and actually have them notice.)

This was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Professor Alzagond tapped a few of us -- Esory, Rhedwy, Ysselhaut, and me -- and asked us if we wanted to do it. Esory and Rhedwy instantly agreed. I'm going to be doing that size project eventually, and pleasing ~mother~ seems like a good thing now, and Esory is good to work near and Ysselhaut I don't know but he's Orren and probably less frustrating than Strenata because everyone is, so I said yes in less time that it will take you to parse this sentence.

In any case, that should quite nicely devour most of my free time for the rest of the term. All the mornings, at least, since enchantments must be begun at dawn. I imagine I'll have enough evening time to get into trouble with an assortment of Orren in the evening.

I'm sounding quite as bad as Tethezai, aren't I?

And, speaking of assorted Orren, I caught up with Spirshash, sitting on a mule heading towards the city gate. Spirshash has generally exploded. He got into a spear-throwing duel with Oostmarine (about whom, less than a month ago, he got into a spear duel with Havune), though in three spears given and three received neither one hit the other. After that he sulked at home for four days, then decided to go take a long fishing trip. For the rest of the term. Which is a very reasonable Orren thing to do.

Still ... poor Orren.

Three False, One True [27 Trandary 4261]

On the implicit advice of the monster Lediva, I will say three false things about myself, and one true one. The question is, which is true?

1. The first spell I grafted was Cute Fangs of the Hearthfire (Sustenoc Pyrador 10), which, of course, paralyzes a small fire so that the flames do not move (but otherwise the fire burns normally). [This is unusual -- most people start with complexity-5 spells -- but a reasonably smart Zi Ri of minimal skill could handle a complexity-10 Sustenoc spell, so it's not impossible. -bb]
2. I was debating joining the Red Chitin knightly order. Yes, they're mostly Herethroy, but there isn't a knightly order that's mostly Zi Ri. I decided to go to Vheshrame Academy after understanding that the Red Chitin knightly vows are perpetual, instead of eighty-one years as I had thought.
3. My first governess was an alarmingly fat Orren woman named Treaclesways (and later Crown-Of-Icicles). She was absolutely decent and proper ... but one evening she smuggled me out of my ~mother~'s tower in a handbasket and brought me to her home, where her husbands and wife were engaged in activities that inspired me considerably for later life.
4. Because of my geneology -- specifically descent from Myrihaaveinen -- I am obliged to spend twenty-seven years as the court wizard of Oorah Nirax, the city that zie founded. I have about three centuries to prepare for this obligation. Fortunately, it pays fairly well; the court wizards are notorious for raiding the treasury.

Topic the First: My First Spell [1 Hispis 4261]

Topic the First: The first spell I grafted was Cute Fangs of the Hearthfire (Sustenoc Pyrador 10), which, of course, paralyzes a small fire so that the flames do not move (but otherwise the fire burns normally). [This is unusual -- most people start with complexity-5 spells -- but a reasonably smart Zi Ri of minimal skill could handle a complexity-10 Sustenoc spell, so it's not impossible. -bb]

This is false!

Rather, it is true, but it is true for my ~mother~ Eitharheinen, not for me. Verehinga recognized zir strong memory at a distressingly early age, and gave zir an unusual spell as zir first. It was not a very good idea! It is hard enough to learn how to graft a pattern spell when you start on a simple complexity-5 cantrip. Cute Fangs is a rather odd and twisty complexity-10 spell -- it wouldn't be so hard for a highschool freshling, say, but ~mother~ was some years younger than that when zie got it. Zie managed to break one copy somehow, and was stuck with a half-grafted mess on zir magerium while Verehinga scrambled to copy out another one so zie could finish it properly.

Or so zie told me, as zie gave me a nice straightforward Comb the Night Bed (Sustenoc Pyrador 5), the spell which I use most nights to keep a fire burning, low, the whole night through.

I did get Cute Fangs as a birthday present from Verehinga two years ago. I procrastinated for half a year before I grafted it, and the only reason I was so fast was that Verehinga was about to visit. I stayed up all night grafting it. I only remembered to cast it where Verehinga could see when ~mother~ reminded me. Useless spell, that.

(: Yes, I did the enchantment in Aquador, but that's because I wanted to get a bit better at Aquador. It seems like an important Noun to be good at if I'm going to continue this unfortunate and doom-supplying interest in Orren. I'm hardly a great fire mage, but Pyrador is a very practical and useful Noun for a Zi Ri, and I'm about as good at it as I am at Aquador. My second spell was Extinguish the Fire (Destroc Pyrador 5), given to me in rather a hurry one day when I developed a snoutful of sneezes.

~Mother~ of course urges me to get much better at Airador before I ever go on a long flight by myself. I use this, rather than any laziness of the wings, as an excuse for not going on long flights by myself.)

(: All four are only true or false in some detail. I don't have the energy to make fantastical stories up out of whole cloth.)

Topic the Second: Red Chitin Knights [1 Hispis 4261]

This is the true one, or close enough. I admit to embarrassment about it.

This was several years ago. I had been reading a great many adventuring stories, tales of heroism and bravery, songs of battle and conquest. A fair number were historical. A few were family, even -- I didn't think I could ever equal Glikkonen, but Verehinga's power in the old days came largely from some quite respectable magic items, and zie doesn't use them any more and hasn't for, oh, three thousand years or so. And, well, as Verehinga is my grandparent, I thought I might be able to borrow those magic items.

But I was moderately sane, or moderately cowardly. Going tromping around on my own seemed like a bad idea. I applied to the nearest-in-thought knightly order, Red Chitin -- perhaps because one of the defenders of my ~mother~'s tower, at the time, was a young Red Chitin. (Yes, her chitin was dyed red.)

They thanked me kindly, but wrote a long letter discouraging me. The detail about term of service was the first one on the list, and I did find it rather discouraging.

When ~mother~ found out, zie explained to me that the Red Chitin knights were basically a gang of degenerates. Highly-trained degenerates who could fight pretty well, to be sure, but most of them were duellists-for-hire, or warriors for wars between cities, rather than good adventurers or guardians.

This started a bit of a quarrel. "Why do you hire Sir Dreeje, then, if she's a duelling degenerate?" Zir answers were vague and confusing. I prefer, now, not to speculate on them.

In any case, I decided not to ask Verehinga for zir famous devices, and to take a much more sensible route after that.

Topic the Third: Treaclesways

False, of course, but only a little false.

Treaclesways was her name when she was fat, and Crown-Of-Icicles when she was thin. She got fat mostly in the summer months, with considerable help from fresh berries in treacle. She got thin mostly in cold surprise or winter, with considerable help from swimming under the ice in frozen ponds. She hated going in the water when it was warm out, and adored it when it was cold. Nobody agreed with her.

She wasn't the only non-Herethroy servant we ever had, but she was the one I knew best -- four years? five? when I was fairly young.

She did put me in a handbasket and carry me about. Dzeriaunet left behind a few round bricks -- lumps of fired clay the size and shape of a large dinner roll, really. Treaclesways would put two of them into the fire for a while, then scoop them out with the tongs, line a basket with thick cloth, put the hot bricks in the basket, put me on the bricks, and wrap the blanket so that only my head and tailtip were sticking out. There are a few captured images, which are hideously embarrassing, though most people think they are cute.

I can't remember ever getting taken to her home. And if ~mother~ thought that she was showing off her family's body-play to me, ~mother~ would not have been at all pleasant to her.

Treaclesways decided one day to leave ~mother~'s service, and her husbands and wife, and go become a maker of artistic candles in a little village on the Greystark, and that is the last I know about her.

(OOC, because someone asked: I did, indeed, decide which was true before posting the list. I would not cheat on you and decide after I saw the votes!)

Topic the Fourth: Myrihaaveinen [1 Hispis 4261]

Entirely backwards. Myrihaaveinen did, of course, found Oorah Nirex. As part of the arrangements for Myrihaaveinen leaving the rulership of that city -- after a seven-century dukedom which left everyone but Myrihaaveinen feeling rather excluded from power in their own city -- zie did arrange that zir descendants could be court wizards for twenty-seven years each, or longer if they were actually competent.

The court wizards are, indeed, notorious for raiding the treasury; the first one (Tantarille, of course) embezzled the whole of it. Later ones did not have the opportunity to embezzle much of anything. Their stipend and other monies are fixed by a law inspired by Tantarille. There's even an official court position, the Follower of the Court Wizard, who lurks around after the court wizard and makes sure zie's not stealing anything. They only do this when the court wizard is a descendant of Myrihaaveinen.

Which proved to be a good idea. Tantarille went back to Oorah Nirex, two centuries after embezzling the whole treasury, impersonating Jlenzaraheinen. Jlenzaraheinen was off in the outer reaches of Braxeia at the time, a good thirty thousand miles from Oorah Nirex, conquering up cyarr and doing research on bone-eating butterflies, and so Tantarille got away with the impersonation even. (I presume Tantarille didn't need the money; I presume Tantarille enjoyed the challenge). In any case, the Follower of the Court Wizard caught Tantarille abducting some silver and lead penguin statues from the ducal aviary, and after such made quite sure that Tantarille was never very alone or unobserved.

Tantarille continued impersonating Jlenzaraheinen for the rest of the twenty-seven years. Evidently zie got away with it, if not too much else. Zie wrote Oorah Nirex a letter explaining the deception, probably by way of revenge.

If there was any doubt about the matter, long life does not contribute to moral virtue. It simply gives more patience to the wicked. At best, it distracts them with long-term amusements which might be only minorly wicked.

Roommate Song [1 Hispis 4261]

I was sitting on the railing of the boardwalk near the library, trying to understand something complicated that my overrated grandparent had worked out and codified some three thousand years ago, reading alternately from one book (Orren author) that oversimplified everything to the point where all the details made no sense and another (Rassimel author) that discussed every every every detail to the point where nothing made any sense.

Ghirbis:[Singing]"Sythyry, descend thou unto earth! / Sythyry, land, o, I bid thee land! / Sythyry, descend thou unto earth! / Sythyry, cease thy ceaseless peregrinations about the orbs most celestial, and return to this world-branch to grace us with thy presence!"

The railing of the boardwalk is at hand-height to a Rassimel. Ghirbis' head was rather higher than mine.

Me:"Ghirbis, I'm right here."

Ghirbis:[Singing]"From the globe of the stars I do bid thee descend like a bolt of shortening! O, Sythyry, I do summon thee!"[Literally, "Like a bolt of a duck"; "duck" and "lightning" being vaguely similar words in their dialect. -bb]

Me:"Lighting, not shortening. Lightning descends in bolts. Also I am right here."

Ghirbis:[Singing]"Descend like lightning, descend like shortning, descend like pungent pickled plums!"

Me:[Singing, badly]"Behold thou, O bepickled Rassimel! I am here, fresh from sitting on the heads of the creator gods and basking in the heart of the sun-lamp!"

Ghirbis:"Oh, there you are, Sythyry. I can finally understand you. I bring you good tidings and bad!"

Me:[Singing, very badly]"She brings to me assorted tidings, she brings to me news of this and that, her words will make me whee and weep!"

Ghirbis:"Perhaps you ought to leave the singing to me, for I am a peerless and eloquent and liqueur-voiced mid-term Oratory student."

Me:"Perhaps I will. In any case I have tidings for you."

Ghirbis:"What tidings are these?"

Me:"You first!"

Ghirbis:[singing, well]"No, no, I insist -- your tidings are as gracious as drops of coriander-scented sap drizzling down from great Virid, and they must prevail and come first!"

Me:"Does coriander-scented sap actually drizzle down from Virid's celestial eidolon?"

Ghirbis:"Who knows? I doubt that anyprime has gotten under it; it is very very far away. So it might well!"

Me:"I suppose it might. In any case, if the Creoc god's eidolon does drizzle anything, more likely it is coriander-scented sap than, say, skewers of grilled mice spiced with arhoolie in the Hryczdzau style."

Ghirbis:"Ah, Sythyry, you bring me weep -- tears are now mine! You say that great Virid spurns the cuisine of my natal region? How can this be?"

Me:"She may not spurn it; I merely suggest that, perhaps, she does not excrete it."

Ghirbis:[Singing]"I am consoled, I gleam with grace and gladness, I am trying to quote The Troublers of Tulterry but I cannot remember the words!"

Me:"In any case, as predicted, Real-Eel cannot move to Quelldrie House."

Ghirbis:[Singing]"I am dissoled, I endarken with worry and disgladness, I still cannot remember the words!"

Me:"But you are not surprised."

Ghirbis:"Not a bit so. For my news: Anoof and Narngi will share a room. This is good, but I had hoped they would each take one."

Me:"Better than before! And the bad tidings?"

Ghirbis:"Thelvion will not room with us. He lacks the money."

Me:"We were going to ask Thelvion?"

Ghirbis:"Were we not going to ask Thelvion?"

Me:"I did not think so -- I accidentally omitted that part of the conversation from my diary, and, as I am a diarist and you are not, it did not occur."

Ghirbis:"You are a diarist; you scratch away bits of forever in a great enchanted scroll; you thereby are worthy of honor and respect and a modest stipend from the Vheshrame Department of Flowing!"

Me:"I am?."

Ghirbis:"Yes, certainly. Although -- not to be too exacting -- the stipend will be very modest indeed. Almost unimaginably modest."

Me:"So modest it cannot be seen at all."

Ghirbis:"Precisely! So we must now seek other people."

Me:"We must. Esory?"

Ghirbis:"She lives at home, with the great mages who bore her."

Me:"A pity, that. Your turn."

Ghirbis:"Dustweed?"

At this point, I turned into a gigantic seventeen-headed blue-green scorpion, boiling in a pot of lye. Or, more accurately, I squeaked, "Dustweed?"

Ghirbis:"Dustweed, indeed -- a Herethroy both-female, a neighbor of mine, a person of noble birth and passing good skill at this and that. You might have met zir here or there, for zie is often found in the area."

Me:"For a fact, I do know Dustweed."

Ghirbis:"You dislike zir? You seem to be fairly close with her day-to-day, in the logistical and friendshistical senses both."

Me:"I had not thought to ask zir. Associating with zir has not done that well for me."

Ghirbis:"The friendship of a Great Baron counts for nothing at all; the friendship of Tethezai counts even less."

Me:"The disdain of all other Herethroy in Vheshrame is not entirely pleasing."

Ghirbis:"Not all of them! Agrimony says he does not."

Me:"I barely know Agrimony. He's in some classes of mine, but I do not know him otherwise."

Ghirbis:"I do! He is seeking a place to live. He also wrote an impassioned essay asserting the equality of primes and certain nonprime species, including wherriwheffle, mherobump, and taptet. I suspect his radical opinion extends to his own species. I more than suspect -- he has mentioned it!"

Me:"Let me think on this through the night. I certainly wish to leave Dubaille. Leaving Dustweed would have its good points."

Ghirbis:"Too late for you on most of them!"

Me:"Doubtless. Also what do the Cani think of it?"

Ghirbis:"Their fiance has lived with zir for a year."

Me:"There is that. Still, I would like to muse on this."

Ghirbis:"You are distressing and peculiar. Or, at least, you plan to live in the area and you care about the opinions of locals."

Midnight at the Pillar of Incangiophor [1 Hispis 4261]

For the first half of the night I lurked on the top of the Pillar of Incangiophor, in Ghaln-Yastrou Park. The Pillar is topped with an assortment of fanciful beasts and symbolic representations of various civic virtues. (As an aside, does anyone know why "Respect of the Authorities" is represented as a lion with a pigeon's head, or why "Cleanliness When in Public Places" is a lemon tree?)

But I was not there for purposes of dissecting or surveying civic virtues. I was seeking a feather of a pigeon (sans leonine body) from a place of rendezvous for a Corpador enchantment. This will immediately tell everyone with the slightest hint of formal enchantment what I was up to, viz. performing Dilitlinilla's Feathered Corrective for fixing a slightly-lopsided start of a smallish enchantment.

(Oh, you could use it on a bigger one, but that only if you know where to find an eagle from a place of rendezvous (15) or, say, a jaran-jabow (20) or some still larger bird for higher Complexity.)

And, since Ghaln-Yastrou Park is a place of rendezvous, I counted rendezvous while I was waiting for my pigeon. This was not a prurient inquiry! I needed to make sure that enough rendezvous actually happen there to make the pigeon be appropriate! In all honesty, most of the couples and triples who come there do not rendezvous there; they walk in, hand in hand or hand in hand in hand, on one of the park's paths.

Not all of these rendezvous were affectionate in any direct way. The Cani played diamond chess. The Orren and Cani had a brief and unfriendly pass at spells, a minor sorcerer's duel, leaving the Cani's fur quite scorched and the Orren with what must have been quite a terrible itch.

After the fifth rendezvous -- the chess game -- I decided that it was enough of a place of rendezvous to qualify in the eyes of Kvarse, and I chased a pigeon down with fire breath (cheating of course -- it would take two or three unamplified breaths to kill a pigeon, I should think, and I didn't want to torture the thing), and brought it home for Havune to cook and to use the feathers. Tomorrow morning we will see if it works properly.

(Why was the starting ritual lopsided? I was distracted by Rhedwy's huge fangy face popping over the edge of the table that I was working on, checking to see if it was unoccupied and she could use it. I have not yet learned to be calm at the sudden apparition of half-monsters. Even ones with whom I have shared meals and friends.)

Charger, Charging [2 Hispis 4261]

Crown Prince Nestrune Kreslink has once again demonstrated his wealth, rank, power, and charisma. His charger -- whom I believe to be named "Gargotha" or something like that -- is beautiful and spirited and pedigreed, rather like Nestrune himself. Gilgothra has had extensive training in deportment and dressage, also like Nestrune himself. Galgurtha has not been graced with the natural or the trained talent in worrying about the consequences of his actions. In all honesty, Nestrune has been trained that way about his bigger or more official deeds; but not in his personal life.

Gergatha was not admiring his rider. Gyrgytha was, by that time, glaring at a mendicant Orren priest of Flokin, who had built a bonfire supported by a thread tied to a branch of a distinctly straggly topiary of a dancing Gormoror and was conjuring blazing birds and fishes out of it to amuse some children.

And when Milirant blew Nestrune a kiss and Nestrune leaned towards him to catch it, Gorthorga got annoyed at the flapping of some long feathery firey wings. He reared and kicked, and ... missed bird and priest and children. Clumsy untrained show-beast!

He did, however, rip Strenata's side rather a lot.

Continuing the theme of admiring the Crown Prince, Strenata said, "Excuse me, Gorgontha. While you may legitimately infer that I wish to show Nestrune my private parts, I would hope not to show them all. In particular I would prefer to keep my intestines to myself -- meaning no insult to the Crown Prince of course." And only after that bit of smarminess did she try to heal herself.

She got a kiss and a swift ride to the Healer's Guild for it, though. All about, children were screaming, onlookers were onlooking in onhorror, the fire priest was trying to paralyse Girthirgna, Nestrune was trying to calm Gerthergna, and of course Milirant was valiantly admiring Nestrune without a break.

The aftermath:

• A titled lieutenant of the city guard paid a short and very respectful call to Nestrune. She recommended that he stable Gulgothorga outside the city and get him trained better. Nestrune breezily dismissed the incident as a mere freak event, and that was the end of that.
• Strenata was duly and fully healed. Nestrune paid the Guild to heal her clothes even, which is not something they will often do. One must generally engage a tailor for such labors.
• Strenata will not consider stopping riding with Nestrune over such a minor matter as a revealed intestine. She simply refuses to use the horse's correct name. I am of course assisting in this revenge.
• (Other witnesses give Strenata a more active role in turning Gulborgo aside when he leapt at a group of children, to the extent of more or less ramming Gelbelgo with Shadowfrog aside. She's a hero!)

Chamber Concert [3 Hispis 4261]

Esory and Tethezai and Dustweed and I were invited to a chamber concert at the ducal palace.  By "chamber concert" I simply mean "a concert held in the second-largest hall, viz. the Plentiful Wooden Butterfly Room.  By "invited" I mean that we each got separate invitations, phrased suitably for our ranks; but ones that could not be refused at all reasonably.  There was a slight hint that Esory and I were a couple (which, if true, I have been remarkably ignorant of ... but the hermaphrodite is always the last to know).   There was a distinct lack of a hint that Tethezai and Dustweed were a couple (but by reason of privacy requests for the bedroom I understand that they still are, with enthusiasm.  and stamina.  Too much stamina, at least for that hour of the night.  Fortunately I can sleep on the stove.)

The concert was rather bland.  Perhaps Orren music has done something insidious to my ears, much as Yistreian cooking is said to do something insidious to the tongue, rendering less intense music or spicing tedious and insipid. Since the duke was playing the second harp, and the visiting duke was playing the theorbo, one did not particularly want to say more than "well done!" and "sprightlily played!" and go on to comment on the precision and finesse of the concert.  Not 'til we were back home in any case, at which point Dustweed (of all people) explained how mediocre it was compared to your basic Herethroy village folk music. 

I hope that the court composer, whoever or whatever that may be, is not snooping about our home.a

We were mainly invited on the grounds that we were "a few students at Vheshrame Academy".  After the concert, we met the visiting duke, and his daughter the Crown Princess Mirzliet.  Cani of course.  Mirzliet is considering attending Vheshrame Academy next year, and wanted to meet some students, so she created a friendly minor state visit to here and acquired some. 

Of course, it was discovered soon enough that there had been no intent to invite Dustweed -- some courtier or other had decided to invite zir, at the last minute, not aware of what zie is, thinking (correctly) that zie went with Tethezai.  Mirzliet was not delighted to see what company she might be keeping among the noble students.

On the whole I would rather not have her here.  One Crown Prince is a quite generous supply of them.

Explosive Eggplant [6 Hispis 4261]

[The "eggplant" in question isn't quite the Earth vegetable, but is close to the original eggplant. -bb]

Eggplant is an unexceptional vegetable. It is a sort of squash or soft gourd, the shape and size of an egg (hence the name). The skin is as thick as an orange's, and when the eggplant is roasted, it caramelizes nicely, rather like an onion. The flesh inside is bland and crunchy. After the eggplant is roasted, the flesh inside is bland and creamy.

The eggplant plant is a tall stiff bush, which sprouts eggplants quite energetically in spring and summer and first autumn. Eggplant plants have beautiful small dark-green leaves, and little blue-green flowers. This means that they make very nice hedges.

The Buttery has a garden in back, which is mainly used as an herb garden (or a relaxation for the Herethroy sous-chefs). It is not a very pretty garden, being more a practical sort of garden than an aesthetic one. So of course it must be hidden from the rest of the campus. (I have seen it, but the majority of students, who prefer the ground to the air, probably haven't, and probably don't care.) So the Buttery garden is surrounded by hedge-walls of eggplant plants -- a compromise between the aesthetic needs of the outside and the practical needs of the inside.

This means that the Buttery serves lots and lots of eggplant, starting about now.

Several of my friends, lead by , have taken exception to this. Whenever they walk by the Buttery garden, they pick an eggplant or two, and hurl them into the Buttery kitchen window.

Recall, if you will, that the Buttery is run by three berserk Orren chefs.

Today at lunch there were stuffed eggplants for lunch in the Buttery. Eight choices, all of them stuffed eggplants. All of them alarming -- e.g., the eggplant stuffed with a Yistreian-style grilled mouse, with lots of arhoolie.

I think I shall avoid the Buttery for a week or two.

Hired Help [11 Hispis 4261]

Conversation in the Enchantment laboratory, at a break in the labors.

Rhedwy:"Sythyry, Esory! How does one hire a prostitute in Vheshrame?"

Me:"I haven't any idea. Why do you think I might?"

Rhedwy:"Rrarhu, either you know or you should know."

Me:"Well, I don't know. Assuming, arguendo, that you are not simply being determinedly and peculiarly rude, what are you talking about?"

Rhedwy:[Smirking]"You are the one who dates Seeks-Spirals Strenata -- is this not true?"

Me:"I hardly would say I am the only one who could be called that. But I do see her several times a week; you know this."

Rhedwy:"And she does not grant you more than a kiss, or three kisses, or I suppose a shoulder to ride on. She does not grant more now, she does not grant more later."

I mused on the dangers of being visibly angry at a large and adventurerly Sleeth. I considered that Strenata and Rhedwy are friends, and that Strenata might well reveal important intimate things to Rhedwy that, well, she might not to me. I wondered if this was a subtle way of Strenata disposing of me, at least romantically. I mused more on the dangers of being visibly angry at a large and adventurerly Sleeth.

Me:"Why are you telling me this?"

Rhedwy:[blinking]"You ask me to tell you this story!"

Me:"I do? I mean, I did?"

Rhedwy:"A moment ago you are asking me for how I think you should know!"

Me:"She didn't ask you to tell me that we are never to be romantically involved more deeply than we are now?"

Rhedwy:"She is not a fool! She does not ask a Sleeth to be a romantic interlocutor! Also she is not a noble and not a Sleeth. This means she is allowed to be a virgin!"

I did not announce my virginity to even the small class. It did not seem appropriate, somehow.

Rhedwy:"So this is why you need a prostitute."

Esory:[Laughing.]"Why do you need a prostitute, Rhedwy?"

Rhedwy:"A gift for an old adventuring companion!"

Esory:"Not my usual sort of gift! I imagine you could find one by the skyport or the docks."

Rhedwy:"It is probably his last birthday. I wish to get him a better present than that!"

Esory:"Well, there are a few courtiers who are probably rentable ... Sir Eddarna, I should think, or Lady Ousparine. Actually most courtiers are probably rentable, but those two have the reputation for it."

Rhedwy:[purring]"Very thanks!"

Esory:"Oh, a pleasure to be helpful."

(And, a bit later.)

Me:"Thanks for rescuing me, Esory."

Esory:"Oh, a pleasure to be helpful! I rarely have the opportunity to snatch a Sleeth's victims from her claws!"

Me:"Only a bit scratched and toyed-with, yet."

Esory looked rather as if she wanted to say more, but the time to return to work had come.

Hiring Help [12 Hispis 4261]

Rhedwy:"Esory, you do not know the court nearly as well as you say yesterday you know the court!"

Esory:"Your accusation cuts me to the very spleen! How can it be?"

Rhedwy:"Sir Eddarna is not currently hireable as a prostitute. He is the undersecretary of the Exchequer. Also Lady Ousparine is not currently hireable as a prostitute. She is the chief architect building the new wing on the ducal palace."

Esory:"Ah. It appears that I, like Sythyry, am horribly misinformed about the hiring of lovers. Though by reason of lack of need or lack of interest, I cannot say."

Rhedwy:"I must now go to the Buttery, to tell stories of the foolish Enchantment students!"[She prowls off, tail twitching behind her -- and knocking Esory's notebook and inkwell off her table, almost as if by accident.]

Esory mopped at the puddle of ink with a rag that, in previous decades, had been the cover to the Enchantment lab's kiln. She looked quite pleased with herself.

Rhedwy on the Books [13 Hispis 4261]

I was in the library, idly reading Impractical Uses of Destroc -- a most engrossing tome -- when I should have been studying. Suddenly my whole right flank was thoroughly swatted by fur! Rhedwy had snuck up on me and flapped me with her tail.

Me:"Why, hello there, Rhedwy. What brings me the pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?" (A more literal transcription might be "awk!" followed by both Rhedwy and me extinguishing page 73 of Impractical Uses of Destroc.)

Rhedwy poured herself upwards, forming a puddle on the top of a bookshelf. "Two days from now we have the small social gathering, underneath many howling Rassimel heads. There is food there, there is inferior brandy in small quantities there, there is I think a potted plant or two bearing berries, which are presents from the families of my roommates, although they are not there now. This last is a consequence of having two Herethroy as roommates."

Me:"I hadn't noticed. I have only one Herethroy as a roommate, and zie doesn't get presents."

Rhedwy:"You are living with Dustweed, in the Home for People of Rare Genders!"

Me:"I prefer not to be thought of that way."

Rhedwy:"When I am just as old as you, I finally learn to care what people think of me!"

Me:"Um ... Rhedwy? I'm not very old."

Rhedwy:"I know! I am the older prime! Never am I just as old as you. Never do I learn to care what most people think of me. It is the very important lesson, everybody says, but it is not a lesson that is taught in Vheshrame Academy and I do not yet find a private tutor."

Me:"I didn't know Sleeth ever cared what people thought of them."

Rhedwy:"I care what Seeks-New-Name-Every-Day Strenata thinks of me! Even what you think of me. Just not very much. Caring is very hard without hands!"

Me:"Carrying and caring both, I should think."

Rhedwy:"Carrying is not so bad. Picking up is so bad."

Me:"I understand! I haven't managed to pick anyone up yet!"

Rhedwy:"Strenata is the squirmy and evasive Orren!"

Me:"Every Orren is the squirmy and evasive Orren."

Rhedwy:"Once I catch an Orren, rrai!"

Me:"What did you do with the Orren?"

Rhedwy:"I do the same thing you do with one when you catch one. Feed fish! Bat words back and forth! Find private place where nearby people do not hear too much yowling!"

Me:[Worried]"It wasn't Strenata...?"

Rhedwy:"I laugh now! Coupling with a Sleeth is not such a social catastrophe as all that -- I do it often enough, and my rank and standing in the court does not change! Yes, it is Strenata, but no, it is not Seeks-Highly-Textured-Wallpaper Strenata."

Me:"She changed her name for the occasion?"

Rhedwy:"Only for a special occasion does she not change her name! But no. I do not get to play with mammal girls. My tongue is very very rough, and and I have no hands."

Me:"I hardly know how I shall endure life with such knowledge."

Rhedwy:"Excellent! Every Sleeth enjoys torturing people now and then, and I now inflict infinite torture on someone! Sythyry, you must come to our party! There I torture you all the more!"

Me:"Right, the party."

Rhedwy:"Seeks-Oblong-Squiggly-Things-Colored-Greenish-Blue is at the party! Nestrune Kreslink is not at the party!"

Me:"I detect subtle forms of social manipulation here!"

Rhedwy:"Very subtle! More subtle than I am capable of!"

Me:"This, despite the fact that you just did them."

Rhedwy:"Ah! But Seeks-A-Bowl-Of-Sprat-And-Cherry-Soup tells me to say this."

Me:"I am trapped! I must then come!"

Rhedwy:"This is the excellent thing."

Me:"I look forward to it with all available trepidation!"

Rhedwy:"I hope that your supply is plentiful!"

Party Beneath the Howling Heads #1[15 Hispis 4261]

At the apartment that once was Spirshash's and now is Rhedwy's, there was a small social gathering, of about twenty people or so at any one time. They were hard to count; people arrived and departed at odd times, without much notice. Here are a few:

Seeks-Hot-Water and I arrived at about the same time. I had not seen her in four or five days, so I took the opportunity to land on her shoulder and coil my tail around her neck, a seat from which I had no intention of departing for hours. She retaliated in kind by giving me a detailed exposition of how Milirant Tavath has been pursuing Crown Prince Nestrune Kreslink at length and in depth. "For a position in his court or a position bent over his bed?" I asked.

"Perhaps both! Though mostly the former. I believe he wants to be the prince's gentleman-in-waiting. Just the post for a position of no skills save for wearing clothes and not wearing clothes."

"Are you jealous now?," I asked her.

"Oh, my needs for Nestrune are thoroughly satisfied by our rides together, I assure you. And my needs for Gluegluetha as well."

I almost asked her just what her dealings with Nestrune were about -- and in particular that comment about showing him her private parts -- but I discovered, obliquely, that I must have either some manners or some sense.

Party Beneath the Howling Heads #2

Khiriotos:"You surely are the Sythyry, the friend of the Rhedwy."

Me:"I am Sythyry. I doubt that I am the Sythyry, though I suspect I may be the only " [I got about two-thirds of the way through my full name before losing track of where I was in it.]

Khiriotos:"Oh, dearsome me. I cannot remember the such long name as that! But I say 'the Sythyry' and 'the Rhedwy' as Mrasteian says. Even in Vheshrame I do like to say it these ways. It reminds me of the home!"

Me:"I don't know that I've ever met anyone else from Mrasteia."

Khiriotos:"You have thereby missed the great and essential pleasure of life! Or at least the second-great and second-essential pleasure. I think there is the one bigger one."

Strenata:"By which I believe you mean, crushing your enemies and feeling their skulls crunch beneath your toes?"

Me:"I don't know that Herethroy really enjoy that one. Their toes are all chitin-covered -- can they even feel through them?"

Khiriotos:"I can feel the skulls crunching, to be sure! I feel like I have more often crunched nut husks crunching beneath my toes though. Or my back!"

Strenata:"Crunched nut husks sound like a rather unpleasant bed."

Khiriotos:"Not for someone with a suitably tough chitinous carapace!"

Me:"For that matter, I would happily curl up in a pile of crunched nut crunched husks crunched, if they were set ablaze."

Strenata:"Bah, I am outnumbered by the non-mammals in this conversation!" She tugged my tailtip.

Khiriotos:"Oh, now you must know fear, O the Dulcanny! Beware lest it be your own skull being crunched beneath someone's toes!"

Strenata:"Dulcanny? I haven't been Dulcanny since Nivvem!"

Me:"She changes her name now and then. Mostly now. Call her Seeks-Something if you want. It doesn't matter what -- if she likes it, she might pick it up."

Khiriotos:"The Rhedwy mentioned that. I never utterly understood it."

Strenata:"There's nothing to understand. I, like any reasonable Orren, change my name to fit my mood. It helps people understand me."

Me:"A sorely-needed assistance! I have been dating Seeks-Hot-Water for a while now, and only by means of her name can I tell the first thing about her!"

That earned me an Orrenly scowl.

Strenata:"I do wear my name in my hat, generally. Of course I forgot to put a hat on, in the scramble to get here."

Khiriotos:"Oh, this is not the most finicky party of starting time that ever was. People will be drifting in for hours yet. And drifting out ... or not." She glanced at Pleasant Blossom. "Some will be here for quite a while."

That earned Khiriotos an Orrenly scowl.

Strenata:"How did you meet Rhedwy?"

Khiriotos:"She's a friend of Darkstamen, from a few years ago. They met in a forest glade, under a very large mushroom."

That earned Rhedwy an Orrenly scowl -- an unfair one, as Rhedwy was across the room, chatting at Ambuscade. A pair of Cani knocked at the front door.

Khiriotos:"Pardon me for the minute!"

Me:"What did Rhedwy do to earn that glare, O most ferocious of Orren?"

Strenata:"Darkstamen is a bit of a rake. I do not entirely think he will be a good influence on Rhedwy."

Me:"There is a good deal of very cheap brandy, to be sure."

Strenata:"I warned Rhedwy not to live with him."

Me:"And you just found out about him?"

Strenata:"Rhedwy didn't mention the name of the gentleHerethroy she, um, met quite closely under that mushroom."

Me:"There are undertones going on here that I cannot hear."

Strenata:"The gentleHerethroy in question -- whom Rhedwy refers to as 'my bug-toy' -- is arguably a compatriot of Tethezai's, except that, where Tethezai is generally sober and generally skillful and generally responsible and generally capable of higher emotions and cognitions. The bug-toy is a libertine, but without notable virtues."

Me:"Rhedwy is as well."

Strenata:"She does take lovers rather often, though she does not keep them for long. Fortunately only one week a month or so, and that only when circumstances permit. And she brags about it."

Me:"She does enjoy shocking, well, me."

Strenata:"Anyone who can be shocked, Sythyry."

Party Beneath the Howling Heads #3

Seeks-Hot-Water Strenata:"And how do you know our hosts, O Herethroy?"

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh, just, from here and there, don't you know? " Zir giggle is like the clattering of teak chimes in a lazy breeze. "I've been around a bit, don't you know?"

Me:"Truth to tell, I am not so well informed in all important matters of Vheshrame as perhaps I should be! Where have you been? Have you visited the misty hills of Braxeia, perhaps, or distant broken-off Juneia?"

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh, nothing that far! Is there really a broken world branch?"

Me:"One of the gods evidently snapped the tip off of Juneia, though before primes were around to see it."

Strenata:"Though the broken-off bit is nowhere to be found."

Pleasant Blossom:"Really? I never knew that!" Pleasant Blossom seems to giggle quite frequently.

Me:"But how do you know the hosts?"

Pleasant Blossom:[Curling zir antennae, a bit embarrassedly]"Oh, well, just from the theatre, I suppose."

Me:"You are an actor, then?" Zie didn't look much like a student, nor indeed much like nobility. Zir pale peach carapace was dusted with glitter, and three triangles of dark peach paint, and zie wore a short cape fringed with some cheap fur that I didn't recognize.

Pleasant Blossom:[Nodding a lot]"Yes, yes, an actor. Only little bit parts really so far, don't you know?"

Strenata:"I, myself, have a limited but distinguished theatrical career. A First Day street performance of The Cheeses of Oorah Thrassen -- I was Mircannis!"

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh, that's very nice, don't you know?"

Strenata:"What have you appeared in?"

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh, I'm sure nothing you've heard of. I hardly remember, don't you know?"

Me:"We have been to a severalness of theatrical performances in the last few months! Perhaps two severalnesses, or a severalness and a variety at the very least. We are not so ignorant of theatre and high culture as you might expect to look at us!"

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh ... that's quite all right."

Me:"I sincerely hope so! If it were not all right, fixing it would be a matter of considerable challenge!"

Strenata:"Not so hard as all that. A few Destroc Mentador spells, and we could achieve a quite competitive level of ignorance." She grinned viciously at Pleasant Blossom.

Pleasant Blossom:[squeaking a bit]"Are you sorcery students at the Academy then?"

Me:"Yes, or enough of a yes for me to proffer an affirmative sort of an answer."

Pleasant Blossom:"Does she really do Destroc Mentador?"

Me:"One never knows, with Strenata! Seeks-Hot-Water, I am sure, has never studied Mentador, but she was not always known by that name. She has, I must warn you, had another name ... a darker and more terrible name."

Pleasant Blossom:"Oh my..."

Strenata:"And Sythyry ... Sythyry claims not to be the Wild and Scaly Llezcaryg, who destroyed the city-state of Dumanaat by means of some over-powerful magical weapons. I reiterate -- zie claims not to be Llezcaryg. Yet, who among us has seen both Sythyry and Llezcaryg in the same time? Who among us has beheld the true patterns of their spirits, and determined that they are in fact different people? For Sythyry is known to use devices and sorceries to conceal zir true appearance. And Llezcaryg has not been heard from since Sythyry came to town."

Me:"These are certainly true! I myself have not seen myself and Sythyry ... I mean, of course, myself and Llezcaryg ... at the same time. And what better disguise for the most dangerous and destructive enchanter of all time than as a first-year enchantment student of imperfect skill and thoroughly limited mastery? Who would suspect? Except Seeks-Hot-Water Strenata, from whom few secrets can be hidden."

Pleasant Blossom:"I think I hear Khiriotos looking for me." Zie scrambled off in a panic. Khiriotos fed zir one of the special cookies, and ate another herself, and the two of them slipped away bearing a third.

Strenata:"If zie's an actor, I'm a nendrai."She sounded rather annoyed.

Me:"You don't approve of her?"

Strenata:"It's one thing if the nobility want to boink each other all the time, like they seem to want to. No insult intended, Sythyry, and there's a right gladness on me that you've never really pushed me very hard for anything. But that "Pleasant Blossom" isn't nobility. If anything, zie's lower-born than I am."

Me:"Well, if zie wants to couple -- or triple -- with our hosts, who are we to complain?"

Strenata:"We are the ones who suspect that her 'wanting' is not entirely a matter of personal attraction."

I tried not to think too hard about a time or two when I got kisses from our servant Amberwave, who, I discovered to some distress, didn't really want them nearly as much as I did or as I thought. "Oh? I hadn't really thought of that, Strenata."

Strenata:"I suppose that wenezza cookies could be of value to a proper trio of Herethroy, if they're having a bit of trouble with the physical side of their relationship but the intentions are all there. Still, one might expect them to take more privacy to do it than a party. Pleasant Blossom seems to be more a part of the entertainment for them than someone the particularly care about. For that matter, just zir name -- that can't be a real name, can it?"

Me:"For a fact I know no other Herethroy named it."

Strenata:"At least Rhedwy arranged for her companion of the evening to be someone of some suitable status. Though I wish she were more, well, chaste; but you can't expect a Sleeth to behave at all reasonably."

Me:"No, I should think not. Why are you her friend at all?"

Strenata:"Oh, various reasons: history, mutual assistance, mutual respect. I do not, however, take her for a moral exemplar."

Me:"Perhaps a wise choice."

Strenata:"Yes -- perhaps."

Party Beneath the Howling Heads #4

I was sitting on the arm of a rather ragged couch, chatting with an Orren whose name I didn't catch and, by the end of the evening, am happier to be without. Ambuscade was sitting on the other end of the couch, devouring meatballs. Rhedwy leapt over me and swatted him with her tail.

Rhedwy:"Ambuscade! Do you eat your cookie already?"

Ambuscade:"C'mon, Rhedwy. Do you really think I need wenezza?"

Rhedwy:"I cannot care about what you need or do not need for assistance! It is not my week this month for convenient lust. Nonetheless I refuse to wait until next week!"

Ambuscade:"So eat both our cookies -- maybe you can keep up with me then!"

Rhedwy:"This cannot be! If I am eating wenezza, also my playmate is eating wenezza. I refuse to be sparked-off alone!"

Ambuscade:"Sheesh. All right. But don't blame me if I wear you out and then have to go boink everyone else in the whole room afterwards!"

Rhedwy:"If you wear me out first, I do not afterwards care what you do, or whom you do!"

They prowled towards the special cookies together. Strenata just shrugged at me. "They've been lovers of convenience now and then for, oh, as long as I've been clearly aware of such things. I think Ambuscade has a particular enjoyment of Sleeth women. He has at least three. He was more or less kicked out of his marriage over it, even."

Me:"A Cani chose Sleeth women over his marriage?"

Strenata:"Sssht! Don't talk so loudly! But yes, he did."

Me:"You adventurers are very odd people."

Strenata:"That's what makes us adventurers, I should think."

Me:"I seem to have fallen among libertines."

Strenata:"You should be used to that from Tethezai!"

Me:"She's the only one of that degree that I know ... that I knew. Some of these people seem... "

Strenata:"Dedicated to their amusements? Rather as if they were Rassimel, though on the whole they are not?"

Me:"I might have chosen blunter words."

Strenata:"Well, these are friends of mine, or friends of friends. Some of them are adventurers; they might reasonably think that they will die sooner than you will, O ageless city-dweller. So they choose to indulge in a variety of experiences -- arguably indiscriminantly -- before they lose their opportunity."

Me:"..."

Strenata:"No, not all adventurers are like that: I, for one, am not."

Me:"That's not what I meant!"

Strenata:"And I don't know the excuse of the other people. Perhaps simple enjoyment."

Me:"Not an indefensible philosophical position, I suppose."

Strenata:"True, true. Though I do not assert that all these people know precisely what 'philosophy' means."

I was not entirely sure that I was in the right party. In the spirit of investigation, I had another quarter-glass of brandy.

Two or three hours in, Seeks-Hot-Water and I were chatting with a Herethroy woman named ... um ... I have lost her name in a small glass of brandy. She showed us the ritual for serving merethride: a rather foreign sort of way to drink intensely flavored alcohol. One pours a tot of strong brandy into a heavy ceramic mug, and ignites it. While it is burning, one pours honey over it. As the flames die down, one tosses a pinch of powdered chili into them, so that they sparkle (and burn most of the heat out of the chili). One then picks up a piece of ice in the special merethride tongs, and pours the actual merethride liqueur through the side with the funnel away from the ice, so that it pours over the ice and is severely cooled, and gathers in the funnel which is towards the ice on the other tong, and drips through it into the very hot honey, which, ideally, will partially dissolve and partially form little threads of candy. Then one sips it, very slowly.

One may, if one wishes, offer sips to an Orren or a Zi Ri. One should not be too distressed if they shudder a bit at the flavor, which reminds them of sal ammonia and bitter ginger in honey.

The Herethroy took a bit of an offense when I said I could not see how anyone would like it. "I can never understand anything about a Zi Ri at all!", She said, and she strode off in the height of her miffedness.

Me:"I'm not that perplexing."

Strenata:"You're not that straightforward, either."

And this brought me to a bit of a moping -- a faintly drunken moping at the time. Am I really that perplexing?

Party Beneath the Howling Heads, last

An hour or two later, it seemed prudent to find the privy. Actually I had been there before, when Spirshash and Tillissa and Oostmarine lived there, and knew where the privy generally lurked. The brandy had been cheap but plentiful, though, and I might have been persuaded that Rhedwy and friends had moved it.

I didn't mean to peek into the howling head room. But the howling head room is next to the privy; and its door was open; and a very bright light spell glowed in it, and there was a fair bit of noise from within.

I confess I stared a bit. And, perhaps, produced some exclamation, such as "oh, my!" or "dearie!" or "goodness me!".

Precious Flower looked embarrassed -- forgivably so; I, personally, might be embarrassed to be seen entangled with a quarter as many people as zie was. Khiriotos and Darkstamen looked entirely comfortable with the situation, and with each other, and with Precious Flower, and with the Orren woman I hadn't been introduced to, and with Ambuscade. Rhedwy was lounging on a bookshelf, mostly asleep.

"Come join in if you'd like," said Darkstamen in a rather languid voice.

I fled.

Strenata caught up with me in the air over Morstawn Hall. "What happened?"

I explained the situation. I was unable to give a convincing explanation of my reaction, but somehow Strenata seemed to understand. She took me to my home, carefully had me avoid Tethezai, and chatted about magic theory and history until I was a bit sober and a bit less perturbed.

I suppose I could imagine being jaded enough, experienced enough, urbane enough, to join without a second thought. I am not, yet. Perhaps I hope I will never be.

Or perhaps I hope I will be tomorrow.

I'm certainly not, today.

Lunch With Thery And Iska

I had of course intended the title to be just "Lunch with Thery", which is how it had started off.

"More pondygreen, Thery?" We had brought our lunches from our homes, Thery and I, and we were sitting on a sort of gangly spidery gazebo perched ominously on the edge of the upper level of one of the two-level boardwalks near campus, looking for all the world as if it were about to reach out a fierce buttress and snag a passing linguistics student.

Thery sounded more than a little dejected. "More pondygreen -- pondygreen at every meal now. I'm wearing a nasty tight girdle with pads that hold my womb tight, and make it hard to bend or twist for good measure. Cold baths twice a day. Lots of fur-brushing, with willow powder; that at least is pleasant enough since Yarwain does it. A very light levitate-the-belly spell which I won't really need for months yet but never hurts. A wreath of mint and hebrify under my pillow at night. Whatever we can find in three reliable medical books that we can arrange, that doesn't involve doctors."

"Is it working?", I asked.

"It hasn't failed yet. I am getting little darts of aches here and here, which could be a symptom of an upcoming miscarriage ... or, according to other books, could just be your basic little pregnancy pains. Well, not yours, but anyRassimel's."

"Mine would not be so little, no... when can you go see a doctor about it?"

"A month or so, we think. I am thinking of pushing Yarwain for sooner though ... but that's risky. The whole thing is risky. Oh! Hallo, Iska. Come sit with us ... you know what we're fretting about."

"Good noontime, Sythyry, Thery! I know and it is not mathematics. You are all still well I hope?" She sat on a foreleggy bit of gazebo and offered us dried prens. I took one. Thery took three.

Thery gave the same sort of complainsome answer. Iska nodded. "Hard hard, plotting against a countess with the possibility of a child."

"And Countess Gloun was distinctly irritated the last week with Mother, too. I wish this were simpler. Could I get as smart as you Iska, or as rich-familied as you Sythyry, and not have any debt..? No? I didn't think so"

Iska lowered her ears. "I would help as if I could."

"That's 'I would help if I could,' Iska." I probably shouldn't have poked her when we were comforting Thery ... honestly I probably should pretend to like her more than I really do ...

"'as if' means ...?"

And the conversation wandered off into linguistics, which was much more comfortable for everyone.

Agrimony

Agrimony comes from a very old family, yet he is a very progressive Herethroy.

Digression

On second thought, I don't know what that means. His family is four years older than mine, to be sure. But, well, all Herethroy families are the same age, aren't they? The first Herethroy were all created at once, weren't they?

I suppose we don't know that for sure. They presumably were made conscious all at once -- the Zi Ri were, we know that because someone asked my grandparent (Verehinga, not Glikkonen. I do have four, even if people think only about one of them). But there's no reason why the first Herethroy couldn't have been made at forty-eight different times, and left sitting on Virid's shelves, and simply all started at once.

A Rassimel, at this point, ought to swirl off into a theoretical discussion of whether Virid actually has shelves for storing created but inactive people, or whether her convenient storage options might better be termed "drawers", or "root cellar", or "bean pods", or, perhaps, even "armoire". I'll leave that for Ghirbis to sing about, though.

In any case, Rhedwy's family is just as old as Agrimony's -- the Sleeth were created at the same time as the Herethroy -- and, since Sleeth do not live as long, there have been more generations behind Rhedwy than Agrimony.

Actually, "more generations" had best be considered "worse" rather than "better", or I'm entirely doomed. I have only four, even counting the long way.

Back to Agrimony [16 Hispis 4261]

In any case, Agrimony's family has been important in Vheshrame for many generations. They're not exactly nobles, and they're not exactly not nobles. Some of them are important in the city guard, and some of them are legeriators, and some of them are administrators of various civic departments, and some of them attend upon the Duke or other important people in this or that function. Agrimony's mother is an esquire, a low and non-hereditary title that the Duke gave her last year as a reward for revealing that some his personal treasury's amber was creeping off to visit with some of his distant (and, since the discovery, very distant indeed) relatives.

(Another rambling aside: does this mean he's allowed to have the perquisites of an actual esquire himself? Or just his parents can do that? He doesn't seem to, in any case.)

But he is quite progressive. He says that all eight prime species ought to be socially equal, and that that the benign and friendly kinds of monsters, wherriwheffle and mherobump and taptet and such, ought to be as well.

Strenata knows him. They have had long quarrelsome arguments about fundamental morality and religion. He is also an ~athiest~, asserting that the gods are simply powerful beings who created the universe and us and who supply us with magic in exchange for cley and who create monsters to trouble us and all of that stuff. In particular he claims they have no particular position of moral or ethical supremacy. In especial particular he claims that their particular favor of the prime species means, simply, that seven very powerful universe-creating magic-supplying beings favor us (the other twelve gods are less particular) and doesn't signify anything more than that we have seven mighty but very unreliable allies.

In particular, he says there ought to be no difference between primes and non-primes.

"What about the practical differences?" asked Strenata. "Cyarr and scyanturge can hardly help attacking us constantly."

"A mere practicality, of no great concern for moral philosophy," said Agrimony.

Strenata is very emphatic on the difference between nonprimes and primes. She and her family have dealt with nonprimes in many various ways, often involving violence. Agrimony has barely been outside of the city walls a dozen times in his life -- not all Herethroy are content rustics -- and has never met anyone less prime than Rhedwy.

Back, again, to Agrimony

But I am not considering Agrimony as an adventuring companion, nor as a philosophical mentor. I am considering him as a roommate.

• He is tidy, but not dangerously so.
• He is respectable, but not dangerously so.
• He sings well. Most Herethroy do. This could be dangerous under the right circumstances.
• He actively wants to live with Dustweed. To prove a point of course. I imagine that he would live with Rhedwy if she were available.
• Ghirbis and Anoof already think well of him.
• Strenata generally likes him despite, or because of, various differences of opinion.
• When I met him he seemed a personable chap. (So did Dubaille, but Dubaille did not come so well-recommended by the trustworthy. Dubaille came respectable by Desparation, whom the ancient Calanchian structural artists represented as a smiling Khtsoyis offering a chalice of sweet wine and bearing a concealed club full of poisoned iron spikes.)

The Hard Part

Shall I veto Dustweed? Everyone else living there thinks well enough of zir. Ghirbis does not mind, but she is not local and never will be. The Cani do not fear rumors -- do they know not to fear? Do they simply control the river of rumors (represented by the ancient Calanchians as a confluence of a hundred streams running through mills, stables, tanneries, latrines, and all manner of such)?

I vetoed Iska. She is still lurking in my social set -- Yarwain is not having an affair with her, but did tell her before me of Thery's pregnancy.

And Dustweed is far, far more central in my set than Iska. And, unfortunately, far, far more central to the people I care about too. Unwise as that may be.

Levande [17 Hispis 4261]

I didn't recognize the Rassimel woman, who was scratching nervously at the door as I answered it. I had never met her before -- I had, once, been invited to a soiree where I surely would have met her, but I somehow wound up swimming-and-flying with Strenata instead. Which, I must say, was absolutely the right choice; but it did leave me unprepared for this afternoon. Fortunately, she was unprepared as well.

Clothes of Another God[1 Thory 4261]

The description of Cloak of Another God states that this most excellent and helpful of spells will adapt the caster's clothing to her new body. (I do not use "her" in the sense that means that I am currently female. I use "her" as is traditional in spell descriptions to refer to the caster of a spell. In this case I could almost as well refer to myself as "him", the traditional pronoun for the subject of the spell, though when one casts a spell upon onesself, the tradition is to use the feminine pronoun.)

Thus, a Cani's sweater will grow to fit a Gormoror frame, or shrink to fit a Rassimel frame. I don't know what would happen if a Cani wearing a sweater turned into a Zi Ri with Cloak -- we rarely wear sweaters, but there is no fundamental reason why we couldn't wear sweaters, so perhaps it would become a very odd but reasonable Zi Ri sweater.

I knew this, of course. I have studied this spell at some length in a recent examination.

I was, of course, wearing my usual clothing: dress ribbons on my ankles and neck and head. I somehow had presumed that this meant I would be wearing an Orren's usual clothing. But no, of course. I was wearing Zi Ri style dress ribbons on my ankles, neck, and head.

Fortunately, I was in a well-equipped Orren apartment. Strenata's second deed was to fetch me her bathrobe. (Her first deed was to laugh considerably of course.)

For those of you who have never seen an Orren bathrobe, this is what it is like. It is made of a sort of thick quilted vegetable silk kind of thing, so that it draws water out of the fur quickly. The sleeves are big and floopy. The back is slit fairly far up, so that the large Orren tail doesn't get caught in it; and the halves can be tied around the Orren's legs if they are cold or wet. There is also another tie at the waist, and one at the chest.

Which is to say, it's a hideously complicated garment, and it took me a good nine minutes to put the cursed thing on. While Rhedwy and Strenata were watching, Strenata cheering, Rhedwy offering helpful suggestions. Well, as helpful a suggestion as one can expect from a cruel, sadistic half-monster who doesn't have opposible thumbs and has never worn a bathrobe in her life. And has never been particularly shy about showing off her personal region ... Sleeth rarely wear clothes, and, so far as I can tell, never for modesty; they do not care enough for what other people think.

At any rate, the spell hadn't worn off yet (it takes hours), and I was wearing an Orren bathrobe over my new Orren body, and sitting on the couch next to Seeks-...

She'd torn the word off the card in her hat and tossed it in the fire. Not her usual style.

Neck of Another God [1 Thory 4261]

Seeks-? Strenata:"You're in a new body, but all you're doing with it is sitting on a couch wearing a bathrobe."

In fact this was part of my plan... I had certainly hoped, when I came there, to be lying on the couch in no great length of time, legs spread. Rhedwy was doing nothing to encourage that hope, though. For that matter, neither was Strenata.

Me:"Well, I hadn't realized how strange walking is ... it seems so natural when you do it."

Strenata:"Doesn't the spell make simple things feel natural?"

It does, of course. I spent half a page describing how that works in my examination paper. Of course, I was describing the magic side of it. Experiencing it is another matter. I suppose one might well write a whole thesis about drunkenness, say, or orgasm, or love, and not be prepared for the reality.

Me:"I suppose I could try to stand up..." It was simpler than it looks from the outside, at least when one has the benefit of [a paragraph of magic theory omitted because I couldn't make any sense of it -- bb]

This brings me to the most disturbing single thing about being in an Orren body. I am used to having my head six feet off the ground. Losing track of my wings is distressing, but not really that bad -- they're generally folded in any case, unless I'm actually flying and sometimes even then. Being huge is to be expected.

No, the most disturbing single thing is losing most of my neck. If I, as an Orren, start out facing North, I cannot turn my head to much further than East or West. If I want to see South, I must turn my whole body at least East or West. Very awkward. And, as a very small and aerial person, I am used to looking around the room fairly frequently: I might use my wings a third of an hour in a day, or two or three thirds, but I use my neck every few minutes. Very perplexing to not have most of it anymore.

In any case, standing up on two legs is not nearly as challenging as it looks.

Except, of course, whenever I think about what I am doing, I am tempted to coil my tail around some support or other for balance.

Which is an excellent choice for a slender coily prehensile Zi Ri tail, designed by the god for just that purpose. It is a less excellent choice for a triangular heavy-furred muscular Orren tail, designed by the other god for mighty swimming.

Though I daresay that mischevious, obnoxious Pararenenzu hardly minds lending me an Orren body, so that I might knock over Seeks-?'s decorative turquoya-wood end table with it.

Float of Another God [1 Thory 4261]

I was wearing a borrowed green tube dress over a borrowed brown Orren body, and strolling down Boilingbowl Street hand-in-hand with Seeks-? Strenata, and, rather delightfully, attracting no attention at all. Rather less delightfully, Rhedwy was slinking along by Strenata's side, and attracting plenty of attention.

I am used to getting stared at in the streets. Anyone of distinctive appearance is used to getting stared at in the streets. People who have the luxury of transiently distinctive appearance can choose whether to get stared at. Most people with this great and extraordinary power are those who wear clothes. (Indeed, the clothing of the duke and the greater courtiers are an important part of local gossip. (I had thought that all the counts were considered to be greater courtiers, but Levande's fashion choices are rather inferior to Dubaille's. (And I have been chatting so much with Thery and Yarwain of late that I am indeed calling the countess Gloun, 'Levande'. (And, in my effort to be a most proper Orren, I am working on having digressions on my digressions from my digressions.))))) [sic -bb]

Now, my great magic has given me this great power of optional anonymity as well. The cost is great as well -- my powers of flight to start with -- but at times I imagine it will be entirely worthwhile.

When one visits Lenkasia, one is sure to go to the great temple of Lenhirrik, and climbs the tall tower to where one can see the goddess in her grove. When one visits Oorah Thrassen, one eats cheese. When one visits Orren-dom, one goes swimming. In any case, I anonymously slunk with Strenata to the public pond -- Beelbarrel Pond, in the crook of Beelbarrow Street, fed off of the river.

The etiquette of clothing is entirely perplexing. When I was Orren in Strenata's apartment and dressed only by ribbons around wrists, ankles, and neck, I was thoroughly and embarrassingly naked. But when I tugged off my borrowed green tube dress in front of twenty or thirty Orren -- including Seeks-? Strenata -- by the side of Beelbarrow Pond, I was not naked. I was properly-dressed for the situation.

For those of you who have not had the pleasure, when one is Orren, turning into water-form when one gets wet is ... as distressing and strange-feeling as having your pupils contract in bright light. And about as challenging to do. It feels about like having your pupils contracting, too, except that it's not just your pupils, it's your whole body. (So, there's a bit of discomfort involved -- in jumping into the pond -- but that's because the pond is cold (summer is late this year -- it's almost noontime of the first day of Thory and it's not warm yet!) -- but the actual changing isn't the least bit uncomfortable. (Yay, more digressions! I am such the skillful Orren!))

However: swimming is not as easy as it looks, even in water-shape. It's certainly easier than swimming in Zi Ri shape -- wings are not well-suited for the water. All the real Orren will swim circles around one.

And one's attempt at anonymity is thus imperfect. One is undistinctive to look at, wearing the shape of a common species, but one isn't really that species in the senses that matter most to the real ones.

(Though that can be done too. I hear that Arvolohraxy -- Hezimikkinen's other parent -- is quite alarmingly proficient at Cani shape, and can fool even other Cani. I have no idea why. That must be much harder than fooling Orren, though. (Yay, another digression!))

Cook of Another God [1 Thory 4261]

We finished swimming, and splooshed out on the bank of the public pond, and I did horrible things to the seams of the borrowed green tube dress because I was confused about the difference between front and back. (Hint for those who are Orren for the first time: the tailhole goes in back. Not in front.) Rhedwy had wandered off somewhere, as befits a bored Sleeth. Seeks-? Strenata muttered purple curliqueued imprecations and deprecations and comprecations and disprecations or something about her.

So I took her out for a midmorning snack of raw fish.

It is remarkable how unremarkable it is to be in Orren shape and ordering lightly pickled herrings and lightly unpickled scallops. One simply walks up to the little booth by the pond and says, "I'd like an eighth of a pound of herring and two scallops."

Seeks-?:"Aren't you hungry? We were swimming for an hour and a third!"

Me:"That's a good meal!"

Seeks-?:"If you're a tiny little cave lizard it's a good meal!"

So I had a full pound of herring and eight scallops. And I'm a charger if I didn't finish the whole thing, which would ordinarily be a day's food for me and then some.

(Required Orrensome Aside: If one were so spell-rich and skillful as to have Cloak of Another God, and so poor as to have only minimal money for food, one could save greatly on one's food bills by switching to Zi Ri shape. Of course, if one were so spell-rich and skillful, one could probably figure out something magical to trade for a great deal of food. Professional sorcerers rarely go hungry.

Strenata was peering hungrily at the blackscale eel, and glancing at her purse, so I bought it for her, tactfully and tactically.

And persuaded her to walk to my apartment, holding hands...

Nope of Another God [1 Thory 4261]

... and, when I got Seeks-? Strenata to my apartment.... We chatted on the couch in the main room about fuming grape brandy. I suggested that she come to my room for a backrub, but she declined.

We chatted on the couch in the main room about how a Zi Ri / Orren might enjoy a pot of boiling water. I suggested that she come to my room for a glance at some magic theory textbooks, but she declined.

We chatted on the couch in the main room about summertime birds, and about the prospects for bringing one down with a flung scallop shell. I suggested that she come to my room to glance at Dustweed's bird-book, but she declined.

We chatted on the couch in the main room about the prospects of making a sentient saloon. I suggested that she come to my room for a bit of brandy, but she declined.

We chatted on the couch in the main room about kaleidoscopes. I suggested that she come to my room to play with a couple of mirrors.

Seeks-? sighed. "Sythyry... Mirrors are OK. Brandy is OK. Swimming is OK. Body-play is not OK."

Me:"I didn't ask for that!"

She caught her tailtip and started chewing on it, which she only does when she is distinctly unhappy. "Not in as many words, Sythyry. But you've been trying to get me to your bedroom for the last hour ... for the last two months, I'm pretty sure. And you've been giving me constant hopeful glances since you went Orren."

I muttered some incoherent denials. Neither of us believed them.

She sort of curled up, chin on her knee, holding my left hand in her right. "Sythyry, you've been a good friend for months now ... a surprisingly good friend ... and I've very much enjoyed all the sorts of things we've done together. I trust you more deeply than I trust most people. There's a lot I'd like to share with you ... but not my body. Not with anyone but an Orren."

I had suspected as much ... I had sort of been told as much ... I glanced very eloquently down at my body, just as tall and browny-furred and triangle-tailed as hers.

Strenata:"I know you're Orren now. I don't know what to make of that really. You're still a Zi Ri. It still wouldn't be right."

We spent some moments disagreeing about philosophical principles. Transaffection is more proper for the upper classes than the lower, and Strenata is definitively lower, so ... does it go by my rank or hers, or both, or what? Zi Ri are by custom acceptable by any species as lovers ... which is a rule, according to Strenata, that she knows in her head, but not in her vulva.

Me:"What does that mean?"

Strenata:[Looking very subdued]"When I think of coupling with you, my body explains to me that I am not interested."

So it's not a matter of philosophy or ethics or morality or anything, really, though she can come up with plenty of philosophy and ethics and morality which support her position. She's simply distressed by transaffection, at least as concerns her own person. This understanding took a good hour and two-thirds -- or, more precisely, a hideously bad hour and two-thirds -- to reach. And we did wind up in my bedroom, because Dubaille came home and we didn't feel like arguing in front of him.

Also Rhedwy tracked us back to my apartment and tried to sit on the bed between us, until Strenata told her she didn't need to chaperone any more. Rhedwy pretty much flew out of the window to get away from what was obviously an emotional scene. Sleeth aren't much on other peoples' emotions, unless they are fearful emotions and the Sleeth was personally responsible for causing them.

Me:"Well, what about if I spend a lot of time with you in Orren shape?"

Strenata:"I don't know, Sythyry."

Me:"Would you want to be intimate with me, if ... um ... I were Orrenny enough?"

Strenata:"I don't know, Sythyry."

And we spent the next third of an hour more or less crying incoherently at each other. Of course the Cloak wore off halfway through that, and I didn't feel like recasting it, making further discussion of personal contact even more difficult.

And that's where we left it: nowhere. Maybe she will, sometime, when I'm wearing Orren form. Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll let me ride on her shoulder still. Maybe she won't. Maybe I'll try harder. Maybe I'll find another Orren. Or something.

Oh, and she wrote her full name in her hat-card, as "Seeks-Some-Sense". 'cause nobody understands her. Especially not herself.

Mope of Another God [1 Thory 4261]

Dustweed:"Sythyry? Is that you?"

Me:"No, it's some other blue feathered Zi Ri, intruding to steal my ... Sythyry's ... most personal secrets and terribly private eventualities."

Tethezai:"Well, a blue, spiky, tendrillous, featherless Zi Ri, which is why there might be some concern. Also you are so morose that ."

I peered at my wings, which had gone featherless. "Yrratple! Cloak of Another God is not good for enpluumiation!" Then a horrid thought manifested upon me, rather like an icicle of frozen sardine-and-peach gravy inserted into my erstwhile female member. "Featherless? Are my head-feathers gone, too?"

They were not, at least, though they were rather lopsidely thumped. And my spikes and tendrils were back. "Oh, my spare poptaloop-cooking Ruloc god, it washed the tincture off, and I've been all indecent and unstylish on the streets."

Dustweed:"Dangerous spell, that. Did you manage to get indecent in the way you were hoping?"

So I told them the story of winding up all-but-naked, tail up, on the floor. They laughed.

Tethezai:"With that kind of introduction, the morning ought to have gone well!"

"It didn't, though." I explained the woeful situation.

Tethezai:"Well, that's absolutely ridiculous of her." She started on a fierce polemic, asserting in incontrovertable tones and Sustenoc-reinforced with that:

1. Everyone is innately transaffectionate in some degree.
2. Everyone ought to explore and express their transaffectionate side.
3. There is nothing in the slightest bit shameful about transaffection, despite all social conventions and oppobriums.
4. Strenata has no business hiding behind some "lower-class virtue" since:
   1. Strenata isn't really lower-class exactly;
   2. There is no such thing as "lower-class virtue";
   3. Strenata has been leading me on for months now.
   4. She (Tethezai) would not tolerate such behavior from anyone she were involved with, even when the involvement were a mere social dating sort of thing;
   5. Rudeness is not a lower-class virtue.
   6. Rudeness is not a virtue at all.
5. When she (Tethezai) was dating Breshka -- a Cani woman -- and Breshka started getting fussy about transaffection matters, She (Tethezai) put an end to it quickly. She explained her methods at considerable length. I might have been able to outline them, with points and subpoints and subsubpoints, but I got lost almost immediately. More specifically, I got annoyed almost immediately.

At which point, Dustweed sent Tethezai off to do her homework, and scooped me up, and sat me on the stove, and poured me a bit of brandy, and let me whinge at zir for a good two-thirds of an hour. Zie didn't even wince when I brushed against zir personal difficulties and sorrows.

I daresay I chose well to let zir be my roommate next month. Zie can comfort me through my next eighty-four unsuccessful attempts to find love, affection, and/or lust in Vheshrame.

And it's still not the least bit fair that the unattractive, genitally-malformed, birth-defected Dustweed has more sex than zie knows what to do with, and a reasonably elegant and entirely proper Zi Ri is still a virgin. Next party I might take the prostitute and her employers up on their hideous offer. Or maybe that's the brandy talking.

Rassimel Collection [2 Thory 4261]

When one has been disappointed and cast off by an Orren, it seems only natural to seek solace among Rassimel. Rassimel, for the monsters in the audience, are the opposite of Orren. They are inclined to be careful, well-focussed, wise, and sensible.

Of course, the Rassimel I picked were Yarwain, Thery and Esory. Iska attached herself to our table instantly, of course. She is nearly living with Thery and Yarwain these days. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was engaged to at least one of them. Actually, she's had two pregnant older sisters -- Rassimel of course -- and Thery is simply glad to have a friend around who understands pregnancy things.

Politeness -- which, in this case (and many others) is a social implement intended to render one's victims complaisant or at least complacent by means of making them think you care about them when in fact you are hoping to get something out of them -- recommended that I inquire into the state of TheryandYarwainandsomeoneelseasyetunborn, vis-a-vis the Countess Gloun. (In retrospect, I think that the Orrenianity spell, while it has faded from my body long since, still modifies my mind. At least, I'm still utterly drunken on the digressions.)

Thery:"Perplexing, I'm afraid, Sythyry."

Me:"How, perplexing?"

Yarwain:"I think that Gloun has taken her revenge, or given Thery quite a nice engagement present, but I'm not entirely sure about which."

Thery:"She's going to sponsor me for the next four years at the Academy. Influence and money both."

Me:"That sounds more like a present than revenge, somehow."

Yarwain:"Well, it's a bit of a humiliation for me. Pointing out that my family doesn't have the money or influence to take care of her."

Me:"They don't?" I had obviously forgotten politeness.

Yarwain:"Well, not influence, not this far from home. Enough to get me here, but if Gloun wants Thery out of the academy and I want her in, well, a countess outranks a baron..."

Iska:"... a great baron!"

Yarwain:"... and a native outranks a foreigner. I'm sure we could manage the money, but it would surely be somewhat of a challenge."

Me:"How much is tuition, after all? My ~mother~ takes care of that for me."

Iska:"Twenty-four thousand lozens a year."

[Which is about a quarter of a million dollars for nine months, in terrestrial terms. --bb]

Esory:"Or other things. My family pays in magic items. Protectives for the casting rooms, devices to make lecture halls bigger, and Insidiously Convenient Cupboards. Rather less than the full tuition"

Thery:"Not so much for me, as Gloun's protege, but as Yarwain's wife it would be nearly Iska's fee."

Me:"I wonder how much ~mother~ is paying?"

Thery:"Then there's the other half of the revenge. She's going to sponsor me for the next four years."

Me:"Which, together with last year and this year, is an entire turn of studies."

Thery:"Sythyry -- not four more years. The next four years."

I blinked blankly, and I probably blanked blinkly as well.

Thery:"I'm going to be a bit busy with otherwise for some of that time." She patted her belly, which looked entirely ordinary as far as I could tell.

Yarwain:"So we have a bit of a quandary ... how much shall Thery study, and how much shall she get to know our child. And, of course, how much the child shall be raised here, and how much in the Ulstramme getting to know the people and the land, and getting to be known by them."

Me:"A wicked choice!"

Yarwain:"Yes. She took very much and very bitter pleasure in pointing it out to Thery, when Thery started thanking her."

Me:"I should have been there, to intimidate her with eternity."

Thery:"She had someone scry our apartment to make sure you were not."

Esory:"I shall be sure to mention that you know the gossip, the next time I see her."

Me:"Do you see her often, socially?"

Esory:"Perhaps every second or third month."

Me:"I had no idea!"

Esory simply grinned at me.

And I tried to change the topic to complaining about Strenata, which of course did not work.

In the Oven [3 Thory 4261]

Naturally, when I promised to take Esory out to dinner "the next day", I wound up taking her out to dinner three days later. I survived her wrath largely because:

1. On the 4th, when I had promised to take her, she had already promised to have dinner at home with her parents. We postponed it to the next day, the 5th.
2. On the 5th, she chose to write an essay upon "The Hunting Habits of the Greater Spotted Screeve" rather than have dinner with me. I don't know what a screeve is. Neither did she, which is why she chose to write the essay rather than have dinner with me. We postponed it to the next day, the 7th.
3. On the 6th, I arrived at Chateau ky Fiaunrhel at the appointed time, to be met with perplexity and perplexion both.

Esory:"Sythyry, I thought we had said the 7th..?"

Me:"So we had... Esory, I thought we had said the next day."

Esory:"So we had ... Sythyry, I have to apologize, but I cannot dine with you tonight. Indeed, I cannot dine with anyone, for I have already eaten an early dinner, and gorged myself mightily upon roast wudgeon stuffed with dried prens. Perhaps we could try again for the next night, the 7th, but the more sevensome sort of seventh?"

Me:"But how next-day-some a next day? After all, today was as next-day-some a next day as ever there was, and it didn't work at all well."

Esory:"Just as next-day-some as this time, but more sevenly?"

Me:"I will make it as sevenly as ever I can... actually, I shouldn't."

Esory:"Shouldn't? Why not?"

Me:"Thrice I have come for you, and thrice you have spurnfully denied me!" If I were Ghirbis, I would have sung or thundered it, but my improvisational singing is only suitable for medical emergencies, and my thundering is far-off indeed.

Esory:"I'm very sorry! I'll come out with you tonight, then, and count it as dinner even if I'm only eating a bowl of thin, limp, limpid consomee."

Me:"You needn't be so alarmed! Technically you didn't refuse the last one, you just refused to do it on the wrong night, which is hardly so much of a refusal as a correction."

Esory:"Oh, I'm very glad. You're sure it's not a problem?"

Me:"Slootly not a problem!"

Esory:"I'll slootly be there next time!"

I hadn't gotten through writing half my dinner with Esory when other things happened. I'll finish it up soon -- it was notable for various reasons -- but I want to write about today's day's events today.

The first sign that there was something amiss was that Real-Eel popped through my door, stinking rather immensely. "Sythyry, do you happen to have some fearsome and mighty weapons that your grandmother lent you?"

Me:"Zie's not my grandmother, and they're generally rather defensive in character. And not wholly under my control."

Real-Eel:"Pity, that. I could rather use a chalice which pours forth venomous clawed flames just about now."

Me:"It was decided that I should not have much opportunity either destroy Vheshrame by mistake or to bully my classmates. Besides, that'd be a very hard thing to make a chalice do; chalices are for healing."

Real-Eel:"You're bullying me with your expertise in Enchantment. Dratted second-trimester students who know everything..."

Me:"I hardly know everything! Indeed, I have not the slightest idea who pushed you into the privy and thereby needs venomous clawed revenge."

Real-Eel:"Oh, that. Neither do I."

Me:"You don't? A sneak attack, perhaps?"

Real-Eel:"Well, actually I did it."

Me:"I surely will not help you get revenge upon yourself!"

But what happened is this. A half-dozen armed and armored foreigners, including a Khtsoyis and a Sleeth, wandered into the quad and started shouting, "Nestrune! Nestrune!" Real-Eel helpfully tried to talk to one of the Orren about him. She was a bit cautious. The Khtsoyis was not accepting caution. He floated above her and waved his clubs dangerously! One or two of the others also menaced her! So, she did what any Wild Rushing Orren would do: she dumped water on herself, turned into water-form, and fled down the smallest, wettest hole she could find. Into the sewer. And came up to chat with a friend who (1) might be able to protect her from the Khtsoyis (I probably could), (2) might be able to help her get revenge on the Khtsoyis (I can't), and (3) has the sensible, fair, balanced, and thoroughly-considered opinion that Nestrune is rather deserving of assorted discomforts and distresses (I do).

What I could do, is help wash her up. (This involved more heating water than actual washing.

What I couldn't do, is scrub the stink out of her fur or the house. So we hunted down Strenata, who is good at Airador, and...

Adventurers from Daukrhame, cont. [8 Thory 4261]

Seeks-Camels Strenata was in a bit of a temper when we found her. "Sythyry, if you knew you were the target of a terrible sorcerous death attack, would you go out riding on Gumblorga?"

Me:"Slootly not! Riding chargers is not a Zi Ri speciality."

Strenata:"Nestrune is a fool."

Me:"I must add that to Nestrune's list of princely qualifications."

Real-Eel:"Strenata? Any chance you could heal my scent?"

Strenata got the full story of Real-Eel's escape. "Oh, those are just Nestrune's guards. I sent them off to a destroyer mage."

Real-Eel:"I hope the destroyer mage does her job quite thoroughly!"

Strenata:"Oh, Avalli is a healer, just a Destroc specialist."

(As an aside: Impractical Uses of Destroc talked about this at length. There are a variety of ways that a healer can use Destroc -- destroying bits of weaponry or venom that are stuck inside the patient; removing excess body weight; blasting wicked magic; and, of course, causing temporary wounds for surgeons to work inside of. It is an obscure speciality.)

Me:"Why was the healer Avalli trying to kill Nestrune? Aside from good taste and civic justice, such as anyone might have."

Strenata:"Oh, shush. Avalli is not trying to kill Nestrune. Someone asked her delicately about killing foreigners from Daukrhame, and she sent the someone to Master Wherion. Then realized that it might be someone in the city now, and let me know."

Me:"Why you?"

Strenata looked rather distressed for a moment, then laughed and said, "Well, I do ride with him occasionally, as I am glad you have forgotten."

Real-Eel:"So of course Nestrune summons his Khtsoyis and Sleeth hordes to the middle of Vheshrame, where they chase me into the sewers on the grounds that I ... um... am Master Wherion's apprentice?"

Me:"Are you?"

Real-Eel:"No. Who is Master Wherion?"

Strenata:"A Rassimel Death Mage."

Me:"Ah. Of course. A Death Mage. He has ... invented a new Verb, of Death. Or perhaps a new Noun, of Death. Thereby becoming a god, the first new god in the history of the World Tree. No wonder we haven't heard of him."

Strenata:"Nothing like that. He's a ritual mage who simply specializes in murder."

Me:"Isn't that a bit, well, illegal or something?"

Strenata:"Hardly. He doesn't murder Vheshrame citizens, for gods' sake. He's a ritual mage, he can work at a rather impressive distance."

Me:"Wouldn't Nestrune have honorary citizenship? Don't I, for that matter?"

Strenata:"Well, your claim is better than Nestrune's. Hezimikkinen would probably be annoyed if you got murdered, for all your sibling quarrels."

Me:"I should hope so!"

Real-Eel:"That's all very well, but why did the Khtsoyis toss me into the sewer?"

Strenata:"Oh, apparently Nestrune didn't tell them where to find him."

Real-Eel:"So naturally they chase me and stench me!"

Strenata:"They've got a Khtsoyis. For reasons best known to themselves, they chose him as their diplomat. I suppose the Sleeth is their healer, too."

Real-Eel:"Adventurers!"

Strenata:"None other!"

Real-Eel:"Now, can you heal my scent?"

Strenata:"Oh, right!" She did.

Real-Eel:"Where are we, now?"

Strenata:"I owe you seven more cley of spells."

Adventurers from Daukrhame, cont., cont. [8 Thory 4261]

Yesterday, I lived in the fireplace in a smallish bedroom I shared with Dustweed and sometimes zir consort Tethezai: two and a half people in one room. Today I live in a small suite, which I have yet to name: two and a half rooms for one person. The half-room is, of course, a private chamber for personal necessities. The one room is my personal parlor and study. The other is my bedroom. A larger and more flammible person would call my bedroom a walk-in closet, but it does have a fireplace, and so it is a bedroom as far as I am concerned.

Which does mean that I'm the only person in Quelldrie House with an actual suite. I should be pround -- vain -- arrogant -- I should take this opportunity to lord it over my roommates! Except that they would make me pay them more rent, and they're mostly my seniors.

Or perhaps I should complain that my lodgings, alone of all the rooms we inhabit, lacks a walk-in closet. I daresay I could get a nice fool's argument out of Ghirbis about this, especially with some brandy about.

In any case: the parlor is quite pleasant, being nearly a right triangle seventeen feet on two sides and longer by an amount that only a mathematician could cherish on the third, with a door to the corridor near the right angle, and two doors to the smaller rooms next to it. It is on the third floor. In prior times, it was a library, I believe; the long wall and one short one are covered entirely in bookcases.

Except by the windows, which are large, and glassless, and blocked by a variety of spells which keep out most things. The Herbador spell is fraying, by intrusion of a somewhat magic-corrosive vine, and I shall have to do something about the one or the other this year or I shall wake up to find my ribbons being courted by twining plant tendrils. Misguided twining plant tendrils. Tender tendrils, I suppose. In any case, I should fix it -- it is a Sustenoc spell after all, and make the landlord pay me back for it.

For furniture in the parlor, I have two very old couches covered in mismatching mauve leather, one slightly old couch covered in mismatching green leather, a large and very old map-table made of some dark wood so heavy and dense that one can scarcely imagine carving it, a small, new, and very casual table made of a somewhat broken door and a pair of sawhorses, a small wine cabinet, and various minor items. The walls are paved with matching blue leather, except for half the room, where they are paved with books. (Yes, paved.)

My personal room is quite cozy, and has many horizontal bars at various heights for perching upon. It is blessedly free of windows. One may consider these to be remnants of its time it spent as a closet. I do not: I consider them to be gifts from the creator gods, intended for me since the dawn of time, or at least the starting of construction of Quelldrie house. Or that is what I shall tell Ghirbis, at least. The walls are of plain wood, but quite nice and well-polished arken wood. A stuffed carcanofex is hung over one of the closet rodperching-bar. For this reason I am considering naming it the "Carcanofex Suite".

The room for personal necessities is quite ordinary in most respects. Ordinary for an upper-class house, that is. It has a strong spell for purification of the air against noxious scents, which is something I rather missed in my former apartment. (That, and magic windows which cannot be closed and thus remain easy to fly through.) The sink and toilet are fed from a tank on the ceiling, which I can refill with my talisman every few days. There is no bathing-place -- who would go to the library to take a bath? -- but the sink is large, and I am small, so I imagine that I will use it when I don't feel like going to Dustweed's rather better-equipped bath, or Ghirbis'.

There is much more to say about it. Most of what remains to say about it is tied up in packets, stuffed in crates, hurled into baskets, and otherwise assorted into assortulations, and, I imagine, shall remain so for some days more.

On Thery, Yarwain, and Macropodia Elegans [27 Thory 4261]

Thery is not terribly pleased with me just now. I have taken to saying "slootly" (a wonderful word from the Countess Gloun) now and then ... as have several of our mutual friends. This reminds Thery of her broken promise to her erstwhile employer, sponsor, and best friend.

Thery, of course, is not entirely comfortable right now. She barely managed to pass her courses this term, except for two. One teacher allowed her to resign from the course. The other claimed that her condition was self-inflicted (which is true) and that she would either perform her celesta recital or fail her music class. She chose to fail...

... in no small part because the healers recommend that, whenever she stands up, she wear a horrid-looking torture garment intended to keep the growing baby's weight from pressing on this or that vital organ or some such.

I did not inquire about the details. If I ever get pregnant, it will be considerably less pleasant for me than, well, anything that happens to Thery up to and including major surgery without pallatives.

Physically, at least. Thery is at grave risk for losing the baby, even with all the torture garments and pondygreen and careful spellwork and what have you. That's not a common thing for Zi Ri.

In any case, I have no immediate plans for pregnancy, and Thery, I guess, can think of little else. For perfectly good reasons. Somehow, attempts to divert her with gossip of mutual friends -- even of myself! -- and other such pleasantries proved rather flat.

Neither does pregnancy at this improve her mood.

However, the baby does now have a womb-name: Macropodia Elegans. I do hope the poor thing gets to change it after birth!

The Fate of Pazi-Pazi [27 Thory 4261]

The previous plan for Pazi-Pazi was that she would (1) move in with us, and (2) pay rent. In particular, she was supposed to pay an extravagantly high rent, nineteen times the rent that the primes pay. We believed that we could get away with this because, being nonsentient, Pazi-Pazi is presumably easier to fool than most presumably intelligent people.

Unfortunately, we were thwarted.

Ghirbis:"Pazi-Pazi, the time has come for us to discuss your new living arrangements."

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"We have decided accept your mouse-hunting duties as a partial payment of your rent. Indeed, as eleven-twelfths of your rent! I trust that this brings you great happiness!"

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"The remainder, consisting of a pittance of thirteen thousand lozens, shall be paid in full on the first and fourteenth of each month."

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"Furthermore, since you have refused to state a single objection as the rest of us picked out our rooms, there is but a single choice remaining to you, which is to say, you must share Sythyry's room."

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Me:"Ghirbis! That is not our plan! We had planned to have her sleep on the chimney-mouth!"

Pazi-Pazi:[Pazi-Pazi remains silent, but nuzzles Ghirbis' ankle.]

Me:"Ah, I see how it is. You curry favor with her --- her, who surely conspires to use you as a prop in her next opera! Whereas you conspire against me --- me, who on more than one occasion saved your fuzzy tail from being devoured by a scyanturge! Is this betrayal? Or is it treachery? Or is it, perhaps, a fine blend of betrayal and treachery in a cream and brandy sauce?"

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"Pazi-Pazi --- do you accept these arrangements? Or do you have anything else to add?"

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"Then it is decided, by a vote of twenty-seven to one. As we have agreed, you shall live in the dungeon and devour any monsters that come through."

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Me:"Ghirbis, one day you will make a very dangerous negotiator. The next day they will figure out that you changed the records of the deal, and will kill you four times."

Pazi-Pazi:"..."

Ghirbis:"Very likely true. Until then, I have my allies."

Pazi-Pazi:[pounces my tail while I am looking at Ghirbis, and draws blood.]

(in Sythyry's words)

Esory and a Clock [27 Thory 4261]

Esory has acquired a clock.

Now, this is not the usual sort of clock, which has a spell which understands dawn and can count time since the last dawn, and which needs to be re-cast every few weeks.

Nor is it the usual sort of clock in the form of a talisman which can cast What Time Is It for the user without limit.

Nor is it the fancy kind of clock made from twisted bits of metal that unwind regularly, and need to be re-wound every few hours.

No, it is none of these. It is a clock in the form of a large glass globe with a tiny opening at the top and a tiny opening at the bottom, fused on the top of a tall graduated glass cylinder, the whole set in the midst of a stout golden wooden stand. A minor enchantment that I could easily do keeps the funnel full. The tiny opening keeps it dripping very slowly. The markings on the cylinder tell the time, correct to the ninth part of an hour. And another simple enchantment destroys all the fluid in the cylinder every day at dawn, so that the clock keeps perpetual time.

(The latter enchantment is done in a peculiar way. It can only be used once a day. It has a trigger condition of "yes, please go off now!". Ordinarily, a device with that trigger condition is used when a continually-active effect is unduly expensive -- e.g., it might be cheaper to ... what did Spreen give for an example? ... I must consult my notes ... she didn't give an example. Hmph. Theoretical Rassy! But one might, for example, use it in a sort of defensive weapon -- the continual enchantment would surround one with fire constantly; the yes-please enchantment would surround one with a separate fireblast every few seconds.)

In this case, though, the yes-please enchantment is on a device that can only be used once a day. In this way, whenever a new day starts -- that is, at dawn, in case monster-world days start at some more horrible time -- the device will get the power to be used once. It will, instantly, use it. For the rest of the day, the enchantment will wish to go off and destroy the fluid, but, since it is out of charges, it cannot.

This is a nifty and a cheap approach. Ordinarily, a device that would go off at the same time each day would be significantly harder to do. I suppose that getting it to go off at dawn rather than some other particular useful time ought to be easier than some other time... wouldn't it? [Sythyry dives into discussions of theoretical enchantment which I cannot follow. -bb]

The other peculiar feature of the clock is the choice of fluid. One might ordinarily use water, and Aquador. This device uses an intensely yellow fluid: the urine of a mule fed on grass-roots and largely denied water. It is entirely Corpador. Using such a specialized choice of fluid renders it (1) somewhat more complicated than the otherwise economical design would indicate, and (2) easier to read, and (3) unfit to mention in polite company.

The thing is, all in all, a very strange design, considering how simple it is. Esory invited me over to contemplate it, but not too hard. After that we sipped small amounts of very ordinary brandy, and did not eat grass-roots nor deny ourselves water, and discussed some even odder designs that probably wouldn't work very well.

(And, in case you are asking, the thing is a student working of Esory's grandmother, and somewhere between a family heirloom and a family shameful secret. The grandmother was notably displeased with Aquador magic, and chose to do the urine-based enchantment as, in part, a way to express disagreement with the grandfather's insistance that she learn Aquador. Peculiar people!)

Sythyry's Courses (second term of 4261)

I was going to take "Subtle Magical Dangers" from Prof. Ili, having survived "Notable Magical Catastrophes" last term. However, I accidentally told my Evil Neighbor about my plans, back before she was my Evil Roommate. And, as she is Evil, she talked me out of it, thuswise:

Me:"I shall take "Subtle Magical Dangers" from Prof. Ili, having survived "Notable Magical Catastrophes" this term."

Ghirbis:"Ah! Foolish you are, and entirely free from both common sense and a vision of practicalities!"

Me:"One might think that "Subtle Magical Dangers" were entirely practical, for someone planning a career as a subtle and dangerous magician."

Ghirbis:"Ah! There is nobody as short-sighted as a Zi Ri!"

Me:"How, short-sighted?"

Ghirbis:"So short-sighted as to only see the long view!"

Me:"Ah, that kind of short."

Ghirbis:"Next year you shall not be involved in any huge and subtle magical workings. Any magical dangers you face shall be as obvious as your roommate's despicable gender!"

Me:"Which I somehow managed to avoid noticing for some months."

Ghirbis:"A fact that I cannot account of, so I shall ignore it entirely. But you shall be at court. So you must take something of use at court!"

And that is how I came to take "Leap into this Pool of Boiling Acid" instead.

The Enchantment Project from Last Term

Ordinarily, an enchantment proceeds in periods a week long. The enchanter must be up at dawn, working for a few hours -- some days one can get away with an hour or two, some days things go slowly and one misses lunch and one's morning classes.

Now, this work is somewhat subtle. There are many, many things that can go wrong. These include:

1. One may have one of the chalk lines of the tlelexis-mlo diagram smudged by one's tablemate's tail ... or perhaps one's own, though it looked more like a fur-smudge than a feather-smudge ... and one does not notice until after the hastravanne.
2. One of the relevant gods missing the point of one of the rituals.
3. One may decide after five hours that the examination in Notable Magical Catastrophes is more important than getting the enchantment working right that week.
4. Some of the paste holding up the corner of the aquamarine cloth on one side of the mini-altar may come unstuck at an awkward time of the ceremony. One should have tied it up with threads.
5. One might get an inferior or contaminated grade of certhany from an inferior or contaminating spice-seller in the market, on a day when a relevant deity cares about such things.
6. One may stumble over words when repeating aitasi sirifei fossissa sosothai the required 345,463,235,134,654,834,562,163,145,154,166,562,235,121,643,653 times. Well, twenty-three, but still. Or perhaps one miscounted, though one suspects one might have said aitasi sirifei fossissa ssosothai or even aitasi sirifei fossissa sossothai.
7. One may take a step backwards and trip over a stylus that a Zi Ri at the next table over has just dropped.
8. One may be distracted by the sight of a small and savory bird flying outside the laboratory, and forget a word.
9. One may forget to put powdered salt on the polishing cloth.
10. One may get to the classroom just shortly after dawn, because of a pleasant, if brandy-laden, previous night.
11. One may regard one's table-mate with horror, for one has seen her at her indecent recreations the night before.

No, I didn't do all of these. These were some of the main guesses why various peoples' projects didn't get done this term. The only ones that did get finished this term are Esory's and Rhedwy's.

A Report on Dubaille [27 Thory 4261]

We fussed for a great long time with the tooth that did not belong to Prof. Gostunard. At length, we gave it to Seeks-Painted-Fingers Strenata. She renamed herself to "Seeks-Wicked-Dentists" on the spot, and trotted it over to a fairly sneaky part of the city guard. There a significantly skillful mage cast Conversation with the Distant through it.

The conversation went something like this.

Mage:"Hello there, hello there! I am a mage of the Vheshrame City Guard, investigating a possible crime with you as the possible victim!"

Other:"Ooh... You must be Flokin!"

Mage:"No, gentleperson. I am a mage of the Vheshrame City Guard."

Other:"It's soooo hot now ... are you going to burn me up in a judge?"

Mage:"No, gentle. We suspect you may be the victim of some possible criminal activity, and we just want to ask a few questions."

Other:"I can trick you! [laughter]"

Mage:"Please don't, gentle. This is entirely for your own protection."

Other:"Nuh-uh! I kinow [sic] what happens to the people you protect! You eat them!"

Mage:"Gentle, I do not. I am simply trying to assist you."

Other:"Don't help me! Please! I'll feed you sausage rolls!"

Mage:"Gentle, are you sure that you are in good mental and physical condition at the moment?"

Other:"Nithon tucked me in and said I'd be all safe."

Mage:"Nithon is ... protecting you from the fire god?"

Other:"[shriek]"

Mage:"Gentle, are you injured or unwell?"

Other:"Are you the healer? Nithon said she'd get a healer if I got worse."

Mage:"I have some skill at the healing arts, though my main powers lie elsewhere. Please tell me a little more about the danger that Nithon was protecting you from."

Other:"Am I dead now? I can't see my fingers!"

Mage:"Are you under physical or magical attack?"

Other:"Did you kill me?"

Mage:"I'm simply trying to ask a few simple questions, gentle..."

Other:"[crying] Why'd you kill me?"

Mage:"I didn't kill you. I'm not going to kill you."

Other:"[crying] You killed me and now I won't get to go to Earwilly's party!"

The conversation became entirely incoherent at this point. Seeks-Wicked-Dentists and the mage did various other city guard folks, asking about people named Nithon and Earwilly, and eventually they found her.

She was a nine-year-old Orren poor girl, and she was in bed with a fever after an upset stomach after eating a fish that could have been fresher. She was, indeed, missing her left upper fang -- a tooth which, according to many experts (or at least Seeks-Wicked-Dentists, who says she read a book on teeth once), is superficially similar to one Rassimel tooth. And indeed Dubaille had extracted it for her some time earlier. And indeed she was the daughter of Prof. Gostunard's best friend.

Which, at least, explains some of the story: why the tooth was labelled that way.

Who would want to blackmail Gostunard?

Well, um ... who wouldn't?

Non-Noble Zi Ri [27 Thory 4261]

Someone asked me, somehow, what non-noble Zi Ri were like.

I don't know.

So far as I know, there are no non-noble Zi Ri anymore.

Well, that's probably not true. Probably there's some twig of the World Tree where there aren't nobility, so of course no non-noble Zi Ri.

But we're pretty much all considered minor nobility without much question. I think I rank ... um ... as if I were the heir of a baron's title with no actual property going with it, or something like that. Nobody has any doubt that I'm Somebody, or at least related to Somebody, but I'm pretty ignorable for a Somebody.

(Actually, nobody in Vheshrame has any doubts I'm related to Hezimikkinen. Of course, they'd mostly assume I was related to zir even if I wasn't, since zie's the other Zi Ri in town.)

But that automatic title trick is not particularly about us at all. Anyone who's reasonably closely related to someone very important is treated as minor nobility. That only makes sense, after all -- and it's not really very different if your grandparent invented Enchantment, or if your grandmother just rules Pennypell. (I don't remember if the ruler of Pennypell is male, female, or co-lover, or old enough to have grandchildren. I picked Pennypell 'cause it's a real actual city but not the capitol of a city-state. And it has the most insane operas on the whole World Tree, not that that matters for this essay.) If you're close enough related to someone pretty important, then you're at least a little important.

And there are a fair number of important Zi Ri. Some of them are like Glikkonen: people who have been around since the beginning, and did all sorts of important scary major things, and are in all the books. But even the least of the Zi Ri born two thousand years ago (only half the age of the universe) are going to be pretty well-known by now, for whatever they do.

Tnirvakuovvka (the one of my grandparents who wasn't first-created), for example, is a bookseller, and never has been anything else I suspect. I don't know what it's like in the various monster-worlds, but here booksellers are just merchants. Except, of course, Tnirvakuovvka, as one of the few deathless booksellers ... and with enough magical force to protect some then-rare books against the Holocaust Wars, and even against beetles ... well, Tnirvakuovvka once in a while sells a book at auction for ten or eleven million lozens.

That sounds like at least as impressive as, oh, Yarwain's parents' great-baronship.

And zie's pretty much a typical two-thousand-year-old.

I suppose, somewhere, there might be a Zi Ri with grandparents as young as, say, six or seven hundred, who never did much of anything. On the whole, a generation of Zi Ri is about a thousand years, I suppose, so pretty much each young Zi Ri has grandparents at least as important as Tnirvakuovvka.

Actually, I think most young Zi Ri have a collection of grandparents pretty much like mine. I can give myself a few airs, since three of mine are first-generation, but I did look it up in one of the Zi Ri records (the one that doesn't include me) and, of the eight Zi Ri that it does list born in the last sixty years, one had one first-generation grandparent, five had two, and two had three.

I could be unfair and say that it's not about being Zi Ri, it's about being related to immortals. But just about all the other prime immortals are people who made their own immortality talismans (which is rather a hard enchantment), or who persuaded someone else to make one for them (which is a vastly harder enchantment). In the first case, they are enchanters of note for having the skill. In the second, they are able to extract a great deal of work from someone like Glikkonen, and anyone who can that (by buying it, or bullying, or any other means) is very, very impressive indeed.

I imagine that close relatives of non-Zi Ri immortals get a more impressive degree of automatic nobility than Zi Ri do. But, of course, you can't tell them by sight, and you can tell us.

So that's ... why I'm allowed in to Vheshrame Academy the easy way.

(And, to forstall the next question, the hard way to get in to Vheshrame Academy is to be frightfully intelligent, like Iska, may some calliopes or something devour her tail. The middle way is to be a protegee of someone important who pays your fees, like Thery somehow managed to stay. The quality of hard-way students is imposing; the quality of middle-way students is impressive; the lifestyle of easy-way students is delightful.)

Avoiding Sleep [27 Thory 4261]

They say that you must not sleep on your first night in a new home, because the obgrathious snyygs will come and pluck your feathers out.

"They", in this case, is Ghirbis and Vlaan. Considering how much of my stuff they moved from here to there today, I will consider them plural at least for the moment.

Also, I do not particularly trust them on this topic. "obgrathious" isn't a word and doesn't show up in the bestiary I have either, and "snyyg", as best as I can discover, is Yistreian for the verb 'to sing'.

Also, considering how few people have feathers (a handful of suitably-bespelled Zi Ri, and an equal handful of suitably-bespelled other people -- feathers on a Cani look quite wrong, don't you think?), it would be surprising if any gods had made any monsters, obgrathious or singing or otherwise, which have such specialized prey.

Still, I shall not sleep to-night. Instead, I shall meditate all night, so that I shall have enough cley to entirely and utterly demolish every obgrathious snyyg that shows up here. With one left over to warm tomorrow's bathwater.

I wouldn't want to wander about all mussy and soiled and covered with obgrathious ooze and snyyg-spyyt, would I?

Still, I have left a bound spell watching the door in case anything obgrathious or snyyglike ... or, perhaps, otherwise Yistreian ... tries to creep in during the more aetherial and spiritual parts of my meditations.

Yes, I do sometimes exhale smoke during the more aetherial and spiritual parts of my meditations.

No, it's definitely not sleep. Not a bit.

Home is the Thing with Feathers [1 Lage 4261]