"Captain, we've had any number of incidents from the wasters in the past few months. Most of them unaccountable. Something stirred them up, and the usual sensible restraints don't apply. It'll be a pleasure to put a few of them away. Take it from me, this is just another bunch of wasters doing what they feel like at the moment. They break the law to prove the law does not apply to them. Random violence is almost a sacred act to a waster." He scowled more deeply.

"At any rate," he finished, "you and your friend needn't miss any more of the festival on their account."

He stalked to the doorway, pausing on the threshold to pick up the copper sap. "A souvenir," he said, and tucked it into the loop on Tocohl's baldric designed for just such a purpose. "Use it on the next waster you meet. G.o.d may not be on your side, but I certainly will."

Taking it for a sour joke, Tocohl smiled, but her smile vanished as she entered the lighted room. The second guard was giving a finishing touch-a boot to the ribs-to the unconscious fisher. The Siveyn,moved to the fisher's pallet and still being probed by the Sheveschkem doctor, watched and shivered visibly.

"That's enough," snapped Tocohl, and the guard looked up, startled and angry. Seeing her captain's baldric, however, he backed away from the fisher and began to make apologetic noises. They were noises only, none of his anger at Tocohl's intervention had gone.

Tocohl turned. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but that's taboo to the Siveyn. And I can't say I much like it either. If you can't control yourselves any better than the wasters can, could you at least wait until I get her out of here?" Between the insult and her baldric, that ought to put a stop to any further beatings.

The lieutenant took in the severity of her disapproval and gestured brusquely again. The guard muttered and retreated, but not before he had spat once on the fisher and said, bitterly, "Hull-ripping waster."

"I agree with his sentiments," the lieutenant said, sighing, "but not with his expression of them. His actions aren't taboo here, but they do make more work for the doctor."

He stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute," he said. "Taboo to a Siveyn? The Siveyn fight duels over anything-they'd fight about a theft at festival!"

"They duel, yes, but a duel is rigidly codified behavior. No Siveyn would dream of striking someone without first exchanging the proper ritual insults with him or her. Anything else is la'ista, the behavior of wild beasts; and that's the att.i.tude that puts your officer there socially on a par with the waster."

He still looked puzzled. "Lieutenant," Tocohl went on, "she can challenge people all day long on Sheveschke, but she won't fight a duel unless she runs into another Siveyn. A challenge is one thing-but you simply don't attack unless you get the proper ritual responses."

She could see he still wasn't understanding. "If you went for Veschke's fire, and the priest didn't say, 'For Veschke's fire, one must shed blood,' would you continue with the ritual?"

"No, of course not. It wouldn't be properly done. It would be worthless... Ah, you mean fighting is somehow worthless to her without the proper responses!"

"That's it. Nothing more than wild beasts. And it can't be done on that level. Besides, this Siveyn is more cosmopolitan than most; she's worked with a survey team and, judging from the fact that she hasn't challenged anybody yet, that's made her very tolerant."

The Sheveschkem doctor looked up as they approached and addressed Tocohl. "No concussion.

She'll have a headache, but she'll owe it more to her celebrating than to the wasters."

(Maggy, find me a real doctor.) (Does Geremy Kantyka qualify?) The name gave her a start; Geremy was one of the few who'd heard the story of the "farm equipment" for Solomon's Seal. (Geremy's in town? He'll do nicely, yes.) Aloud, she said to the Sheveschkem doctor, "Thank you." Then she added, including the lieutenant in the query, "Is there anything else, or may we go?"

"Unless your friend wants a judge," said the lieutenant, "we'd prefer to treat this as a local matter."

Tocohl bent to the Siveyn. Extending her right hand, she laid her left palm up, fingers lightly curled, in the crook of her elbow and repeated the lieutenant's offer in Siveyn.

The small woman's green eyes focused with difficulty. She glanced obliquely at the guard who'd kicked the fisher and said, "I'd rather leave." Then her eyes fell on Tocohl's outstretched hands. "You s-stopped them?" Only the slight hesitation in speech betrayed her drunkenness.

"Yes," said Tocohl. "I apologize for the appearance of la'ista-my own as well as the officer's.

Sheveschkem ritual is not Siveyn ritual, but Sheveschkem ritual was satisfied."

The Siveyn took a deep breath. "I see," she said and rose, bracing herself on Tocohl's proffered arm. "As the h.e.l.lspark s-say"-like most Siveyn, she p.r.o.nounced it h.e.l.l-spark-" 'When on s-Sheveschke, be a s-Sheveschkemen.' Your apology is unnecessary, and you have the thanks of Tinling Alfvaen."

Tocohl frowned. (Maggy, Tinling Alfvaen!) Tocohl missed a sentence or two as Maggy responded, for her ear alone, in the crisp voice of Nevelen Darragh, ("... to answer to the charge of Tinling Alfvaen..."), then in her own voice went on, (That is the name of the only surveyor of the twelve whocontracted Cana's disease on Inumaru who was of Siveyn origin.) (You might have told me.) (You were busy. I didn't want to interrupt.) (Anything else I should know?) (She was also the only one of the twelve to lose her job with MGE after that survey.) When Tocohl snapped her attention back, Tinling Alfvaen was saying, scornfully, "-And Multi-Galactic thinks I've lost my serendipity!" She gave her head an impatient shake that sent her braids flying. "If I'd lost my serendipity, I'd never have been rescued by the only other Siveyn on Sheveschke!"

"I can't speak to other circ.u.mstances, but I'm not Siveyn."

"Oh?" Alfvaen paused at the threshold to face Tocohl; she blinked her pale eyes in an effort to clear them and frowned slightly. "Oh!" she said, after a moment, "You're h.e.l.lspark, then."

"Yes. Susumo Tocohl, and pleased to meet you, Tinling Alfvaen."

Alfvaen released her arm and made the Siveyn formal greeting. "That's the same thing," she said warmly.

(She didn't recognize my name.) (You didn't recognize hers, at first,) said Maggy reasonably.

Alfvaen wobbled and Tocohl caught her again. (She's getting drunker the longer she stands here,) said Tocohl. (That might explain her lack of recognition.) Tinling Alfvaen raised a hand level with her throat, palm out, fingers splayed. It was one of the few gestures that GalLing', the universal pidgin, recognized as necessary.

"No," said Tocohl, "you haven't caused offense. Do you have medication with you?"

The Siveyn looked startled. "Yes-s," she said and began to pat the pockets of her kilt, her hands clumsy with haste.

She drew out a small box and gouged at it with her nail-then, exasperation in her sharp features, she handed it to Tocohl. "Would you please...?"

Tocohl opened the box, and Alfvaen took a pill and gulped it. "I'll be fine in a minute," she said.

"How did you know?"

"Your earpip," said Tocohl. "Which direction are you headed?"

Alfvaen inhaled deeply. "I was on my way to Veschke Plaza, to meet Judge Darragh at the main festival fire."

Tocohl smiled wryly. "That's where I'm going. I'll accompany you, if I may."

"Certainly!-Are you a judge, too?"

The Siveyn's innocence was mystifying. "No," Tocohl said, "a high percentage of the byworld judges may be h.e.l.lspark, but a high percentage of h.e.l.lsparks are not judges."

Alfvaen frowned and, for a moment, Tocoh thought that the Siveyn had at last recognized the name.

But when she said nothing about it, Tocoh concluded that she had only been reacting to the h.e.l.lspark tradition of alternating the p.r.o.nunciation of their world's name: first h.e.l.l's-park, then h.e.l.l-spark.

Like most, Alfvaen came to the conclusion she had misheard and let the matter pa.s.s, saying instead, "I s-see. Most of the judges I've met have been h.e.l.lspark; I guess I do expect the reverse to be true as well.-You're a trader, then, or is that also a s-stereotype?"

Tocohl tucked a thumb beneath the black and gold leather of her captain's baldric and drew it slightly forward. "I'm a trader, here for the festival. My ship was blessed this morning. And you?"

"I came on an errand for a friend." Tinling Alfvaen seemed steadier, stood straighter now. She took several more deep breaths, and gestured a readiness to be on her way. As she followed Tocohl through the alley to the square, she added, "And if it hadn't been for you and Judge Darragh, I wouldn't have made it this far."

That only added to Tocohl's mystification. She stopped to pick up her cloak in pa.s.sing. From the scent of it, she knew it had been trampled. Bruised, it was always aromatic but this time it was pungent.

Probably by the guard with the demonstrably heavy feet, she thought, snorting with disgust that owed more to the guard than the condition of the cloak.

Alfvaen said, "Your cloak was damaged? Perhaps you'd allow me to replace it.""You couldn't. There's only one like this on Sheveschke; customs insists. Don't worry, it'll grow back." With a critical eye, Tocohl spread it in the torchlight. "In fact, it's due for a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g."

"Grow back? Tr.i.m.m.i.n.g?"

"It's a moss cloak. Not moss, to tell the truth, but an epiphyte, a real plant. If I don't trim it regularly, one day it will burst into spectacular bloom, seed, and die." She swirled it across her shoulders, clasped it, then pointed the direction Maggy indicated. "That way-and go on with your tale. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Alfvaen continued as they walked, "I s-short-hopped my way here, taking whatever transport I could find when I could find it. While I was on Jannisett, waiting for someone headed this way"-she grinned with embarra.s.sment-"would you believe somebody s-stole my boots and I was arrested for indecent exposure?"

Tocohl laughed. "I believe it. A Jannisetti friend of mine once invited me to her private club, where all the members went barefoot and thought themselves very wicked!"

"Yes," said Alfvaen with a smile, then more seriously, "but if Judge Darragh hadn't happened along, I'd still be in jail."

They came to a broad avenue, lined with torches and bustling with people. The air was smoky and pungent; pottery shards crunched beneath their feet at each step.

They pushed through a knot of people, past a woman in the uniform of the local police, and Alfvaen shivered. "Perhaps you could explain something?" she said, over the noise. "I did read the standard tourist guide before I got here-and the captain of my last survey was Sheveschkem, so I was chamfered for Sheveschke, as well." It was a chamfer's job to teach one the basics of someone else's culture, to avoid any embarra.s.sing or potentially fatal incidents. "He must not have done a very good job: I honestly thought theft was legal during the festival."

"In a way. If you're caught, you have to return what you've taken. But there's no punishment, aside from the razzing for clumsiness your friends hand you for the next six months.-Of course, taking more than someone can afford to lose is considered bad form."

"Then why did the police-" Unable to express her distaste, Alfvaen finished with a gesture.

"You're confused by a mistranslation," Tocohl said. "Veschke protects those who steal by verbal artistry or legerdemain. Skill is all. Anyone who uses brute force-violence or the threat of violence-is no thief by Sheveschkem standards."

"So those three weren't under Veschke's protection? I see, dastagh"-now that she had sobered, she came remarkably close to duplicating the Sheveschkem word-"means something like 'thug'?"

"No, the woman who attacked you was beaten for being an Inheritor of G.o.d. Among other things, they believe that their G.o.d gave them dominance over all the other species, and that they're ent.i.tled to use them, even wipe them out, as they choose. As a philosophy, it's enough to give an ecologist high-gold fever. Dastagh is the current derogatory word for a member of the sect; it means 'waster'."

The avenue opened onto a great hexagonal plaza, edged with torches and ablaze with the light of a dozen ritual fires, each attended by a glory-robed priest and her acolytes. Alfvaen stopped short and gave a wordless exclamation of delight.

(Wait here,) said Maggy, (Geremy's coming.) Tocohl was content to wait and, like Alfvaen, drink in the scene. Although she often attended the Festival of Ste. Veschke, the solemn joy around the fires in Veschke Plaza still elated her.

Despite the crowd's chatter and the crunch of broken pottery, here it was always quiet enough to speak in a normal tone of voice, so the traders, both Sheveschkem and h.e.l.lspark, gathered to exchange tales and songs.

A ripple of Apsanti water-music drifted through the smoky air and the laughter, to be picked up by someone around another fire and tossed back as dolphin song. A black-haired priest threw a double handful of keshri bark into the central fire and the air grew pungent.

A handful of Sheveschkem youngsters watched Tocohl and Alfvaen for a moment. After much giggling and gesturing, the smallest of them was urged forward to, shyly, offer Alfvaen a circlet of braided fair-sea-blues. Alfvaen glanced at Tocohl, who responded, "If you'll wear it and if you have some smalloff-world token you can give in return, you'll make it a festival they'll talk about for the rest of their lives."

Alfvaen lowered her head to accept the gift, and catching the child's arm before he could dart away, she said, "All I have is a bra.s.s coin from Jannisett. That's not very-"

"It'll do fine."

Alfvaen looked at Tocohl dubiously, then dipped into an overpocket for the coin. Tocohl stepped an inch closer to the child, familiar distance here in the south, and said in that language, "She offers you the Jannisetti truth-coin. The people of that world believe that while one holds this under the tongue, one cannot lie."

The child looked from Tocohl to Alfvaen, his eyes very bright and very wide. "Is it true?" he asked.

Tocohl shrugged, Sheveschkem fashion. "At any rate," she smiled, "one will learn that even truth can be bitter in the mouth."

"Oh!" said the child. He took the coin, kissed Alfvaen's hand, and dashed back to his friends, who huddled excitedly about to see what he'd been given.

"What did you tell him?" asked Alfvaen. Tocohl translated. When she'd finished, Alfvaen said, "But won't they be disappointed when they learn there is no such thing?"

Tocohl grinned. "Being conned by a trader at festival is more an honor than a disappointment.-And don't be surprised if, the next time you're here for festival, someone tries the line on you. The Sheveschkemen never let a good con go to waste."

The oldest of the three children waved an arm at Tocohl and called, "In Veschke's honor, h.e.l.lspark!"

Tocohl smiled and bowed to the child. Then she translated for Tinling Alfvaen, adding, "That is the polite way of saying she doesn't believe a word of it, but, since this is festival, she'll let it pa.s.s."

A thin, wiry man with woeful eyes pushed through the edges of the crowd. He grabbed Tocohl and swung her around in an enormous hug. "Geremy!" She thumped him joyfully on the shoulders, then shoved him out at arm's length for a better look.

He was, as always, a walking work of art. The stylized waves of a darkened sea surged rhythmically around his 2nd skin to break and spray at the unchanging bulk of his equipment pouch; a handful of sparks blew past, trailing their reflections in the dark waters. The design was locally generated by a microprocessor in the suit itself.

"Very nice," said Tocohl, turning him around to follow the course of the sparks as they blew beneath his baldric and reappeared on the other side. "Very nice indeed."

(I could do that with your 2nd skin, if you like,) Maggy said.

(I'd like, but Geremy wouldn't. I promise, I'll explain later.) Aloud Tocohl said to Geremy, "Is that really a Ribeiro?"

"It is, and when Ribeiro took the commission, she said she'd been thinking about the subject for a long time." He folded his arms (along them stylized waves crashed soundlessly) and eyed her with suspicion. "Maggy said you needed a doctor, but you look disgustingly healthy to me."

"For the Siveyn here." Tocohl drew Geremy around the two large merrymakers who hid Alfvaen from his view, but before she could begin a formal introduction, Geremy said, "Alfvaen? What happened?"

"She took a very nasty beating," Tocohl said.

Geremy backed off a pace and looked with hurt astonishment at Tocohl. "You?" he said, once more in h.e.l.lspark. "Listen, Tocohl, about that judgment-"

"She knows no more about it than I do," said Tocohl, then caught the import of his first reaction.

"Geremy, don't be stupid. I haven't changed that much since the last time we worked together!" She gestured at Alfvaen: "Please, look her over."

Chastened, Geremy shifted back to Siveyn to offer his professional services.

"Your pardon, Geremy, but I've already been s-seen to by a doctor," said Alfvaen.

"I know. Maggy told me he was a quack-honestly, Tocohl, I don't know where she picks up these words!"

(Any good dictionary has them,) Maggy said.Tocohl laughed and repeated that for Geremy's benefit. Then she added, "I'd feel more comfortable if Geremy a.s.sured me of your health, Alfvaen-then we'll see to finding Judge Darragh."

While Geremy went professional, Tocohl excused herself to approach the festival fire. All the curious events of the past few hours vanished from her mind, pushed away by heat and flame and the sound of shattering pottery...

The priest's glory robe was orange velvet-the highest of her sect-and she wore the firecrown of her office with surpa.s.sing dignity. Tocohl dropped to one knee before her, spread her arms wide, and spoke the ritual words: "I come for fire."

"For Veschke's fire, one must shed blood," responded the priest.

"As it must be, let it be."

The priest sketched Veschke's sign in the smoky air above her head. "Rise then, and choose."

An acolyte held a tray of pins before Tocohl. Each bore a different emblem at its head: the pin of remembrance, the pin of dreams-come-true, the pin of smooth tongues...

On impulse, Tocohl chose the pin of high-change: its emblem was a face in flame. She dropped a coin in its place. The remaining pins jangled suddenly. Tocohl's hand shot out to steady the tray and she looked into the acolyte's startled eyes and gave a rea.s.suring sign.

The youngster was unaccustomed to the h.e.l.lspark penchant for risk-a glance at the priest's face confirmed this. The priest drew the girl away to speak quietly to her.

And Tocohl stood alone before the fire. As she held her right hand high, the 2nd skin fell back into a cuff. She lifted the pin of high-change-it flashed as if of its own accord-and a great drop of blood welled from her fingertip. She shook the drop onto the broad circle of cast iron in the center of the fire, where it spat a moment, then was gone.

"Veschke's fire," she said softly, "taste my blood that you might hunger for it, that you might seek it out and devour it. Burn me to the bone and lift my living ashes into the sailing wind to light the way for those who come behind. As Veschke's sparks fly with the wind, let me follow."