Dybo clicked his teeth. "Then our roles are reversed, friend, for you once forced me, and all Quintaglios, to agree that the Face of God was not the actual deity."

There was another silence. Finally, from Afsan: "I’ll consider your suggestion, Dybo, but I prefer still the idea that the killer sneaked up on my children."

"Of course," said Dybo, deciding not to push the matter. "Of course." A pause while he worried a piece of meat from the bone, and then an attempt to change the subject: "By the way, Afsan, did you know that your daughter Dynax is back in Capital City?"

Afsan lifted his head. "No, I hadn’t heard that."

"Yes, she’s here. Awfully fast trip from Chu’toolar; she must have made very good time."

"Chu’toolar," repeated Afsan.

"Wake up, my friend. That’s where Dynax lives, remember?"

"I know that," said Afsan. "It’s just that mirrors that were used to kill Haldan and Yabool were manufactured in Chu’toolar. And now you say Dynax is here."

"Yes. To pay respects to her dead siblings."

"But here so quickly? I wonder just exactly how long she has been in town…"

Toroca was no longer startled when he felt the ground rumble. He, and just about everyone else at the palace, had gotten used to Dybo’s exercising. As the Emperor thundered near, Toroca noticed that there was a much greater gap between the ground and Dybo’s belly than there used to be. He called out, "How many laps today?"

Dybo’s voice came back, ragged with exertion. "Five." Toroca’s eyelids fluttered. He doubted he could do that many himself.

"Cadool," said Afsan as they walked down one of the cobblestone streets of Capital City, adobe buildings to their left and right, "you know my daughter Galpook."

"Yes, indeed. A great hunter! The way her team captured that blackdeath — wonderful."

"Indeed. You have seen her hunt, then?"

"Oh, yes. I was fortunate enough to go on a hunt with her about a kiloday ago. She has many of your moves, Afsan, and much of the same skill."

"How is she at tracking?"

"Excellent. She spotted the signs of our quarry long before I did."

"And in the tracking, did she ever alert the prey?"

"No. She tracks silently."

"With stealth," said Afsan.

"Pardon me?"

"With stealth. That’s the word Gathgol used to describe the way in which the murderer might have sneaked up on Yabool. With stealth."

"Yes, but…" Cadool came to a halt at an intersection. "We’d better not go that way," he said.

Afsan stopped at once, his walking stick swinging in a slow arc across the paving stones in front of him. "Why not? What’s wrong?"

"It’s too crowded. There must be eight or ten adolescents down there."

"Children?" said Afsan. "I like children."

"But so many!" said Cadool. "They’re growing fast; they’re up to my waist already."

"Children don’t have much scent," said Afsan. "I could probably pass through such a crowd without difficulty."

Cadool was unusually edgy. "But I cannot, Afsan. I can see them. And now three other adults have stopped at the next intersection. They, too, don’t know which way to go." Cadool slapped his tail against the paving stones. "Roots! This congestion is getting unbearable!"

Capital City, near the docks

Toroca tried to maintain a relationship with each of his siblings. Some of them seemed more interested in acknowledging kinship than others. He never forced the issue, but he did enjoy spending time with those who didn’t seem to mind.

There was an exception, though. His brother Drawtood appeared to be uncomfortable around people. In some strange way, that made Toroca even more interested in seeing him, for Drawtood seemed as lonely as Toroca. Toroca’s loneliness came from no one sharing his desire for intimacy. Drawtood’s, on the other hand, seemed self-imposed, as if he went to special lengths to distance himself from the rest of society.

Beyond that, though, there was another reason for the separation between them. Toroca was a geologist. His sister Dynax, a doctor. Brother Kelboon was an authority on mathematics. But Drawtood had never done well academically. He worked on the docks of Capital City, helping to load and unload boats. If it hadn’t been for their shared blood, their lives would probably not intersect at all. Still, each time he came to the Capital, Toroca visited several of his siblings, including, always, Drawtood.

Drawtood’s home was so close to the harbor that the sounds of ship’s bells and drums and the high-pitched calls of wingfingers circling above the docks were a constant background. Toroca entered the vestibule of the adobe building and drummed his claws on the copper signaling plate. Drawtood answered, expressionless as always, and swung the door aside to let Toroca in.

"I brought you a small gift," said Toroca, fishing in the hip pouch of his sash. "Here."

The proper way to give a gift was to set it on a tabletop or some other piece of furniture, then to back away so that the recipient could easily fetch it. But Toroca simply held the object out in his palm. He did demand a small price for his presents, and that was that the recipient actually take them from his hand. Drawtood shuffled forward, took the object, his fingers briefly touching Toroca’s hand as he did so, and then scurried to the opposite side of the room.

It was a gemstone polished in a cabochon shape. The material was golden brown and seemed to have a white four-pointed star embedded in its center. The stone was quite lovely, thought Toroca, and although common at traders’ tables in western Land, it was rare here. For Afsan and Novato and his other siblings, he usually brought something that was interesting — a curiosity of some sort, an unusual crystal or intriguing fossil. But Toroca reckoned that such things would hold little appeal for Drawtood, although the laborer did seem to enjoy pretty rocks.

"Thank you," said Drawtood, shifting the gem back and forth in his hand, watching the way light played across its surface.

"It’s from Arj’toolar," said Toroca. "Not far from where Afsan was bom."

"Afsan," repeated Drawtood. By mutual consent, they never referred to him as their father. "I don’t see him very often."

"I’ve just come from a meeting that he was at. An update on the Geological Survey."

Drawtood nodded. "Of course." A pause. "Does he ever mention me?"

"He speaks fondly of all his children," said Toroca.

Drawtood looked at the floor. "I’m sure he does."

Toroca couldn’t determine its cause, but there seemed to be a melancholy air about his brother. "Are you well, Drawtood?" he asked at last.

"Fine," he said. "I’m fine."

"And — happy?" Toroca surprised himself with the question.

"I have my job. I have this little place to live in. Why should I not be happy?"

"I don’t mean to pry," said Toroca. "It’s just that I worry about you."

"And I about you, brother."

Toroca was taken aback. "You do?"

"Of course. Your job takes you far away, to dangerous places."

Toroca looked out the window. "I suppose that’s true." A beat, then: "What’s new since the last time we met, Drawtood?"

"New with me? Nothing is ever new with me. You’re the one who leads the interesting life." There was no trace of malice, or any emotion, in Drawtood’s tone. "You tell me what’s new with you."

Toroca opened his mouth, but then, after a few moments, closed it without saying a word. What could he talk to Drawtood about? Superposition? Fossils? The strange lifeforms of the south polar cap? His new theory of evolution? Drawtood didn’t have the schooling to appreciate any of those topics. Finally: "I’ve made a new friend."

This did seem to interest Drawtood. "Yes?"

"A female. Her name is Wab-Babnol. We work together."