But this seemed a different conversation. This was not a question of TCM stockpiles waiting to ship out. This seemed a question of TCM warehouses expecting goods in. And everybody here seemed in on it.

Asach took a stab in the dark. “So, what you mean is, you know when the opal meerschaum will start coming in?”

Zia nodded.

“As in, in to Orcutt Land and Mining?”

Zia nodded again.

“And that is—how?”

Zia did not answer. Shifted her glower to Nejme, who still did not meet her eyes.

Finally, Mena spoke. “It’s just a bit—embarrassing.”

“Ma, there’s nothing wrong with it, you know! That’s just a superstition. There’s nothing wrong—”

“No, nothing wrong at all,” affirmed Nejme. “Which is why we all agreed, together, to work with Michael.”

All three of them raised their eyes to the Eye above the doorway.

“We call them tangiwai—His tears.” Nejme nodded. Mena continued. “They come from the Gatherings. We pick them up—pilgrims pick them—on the way too and from the Gatherings. They are just—souvenirs—you know? To show that you have been?”

Lena nodded enthusiastically. “And they’re stony cool, you know? Elthazar found a big, flat chunk once, and carved it into a fire screen. Carried it all the way back, and carved it into a fire screen. It’s really beautiful at night. You light the fire, and—”

Nejme glared. “Now that’s going too far! You should treat tangiwai with respect. Just because—”

“Oh, like selling them to offworlders and carving pipes is more respectful?”

“That’s different.”

“Different how? Different because—”

Mena spoke, softly. “Different, because people need the money.” She turned to Asach.

“It is hard to come by cash, you know? For the tithe? And so of course in the end most of them keep the littlest pieces, but sell the best to a broker.”

“Like Michael.”

She smiled, softly. “Yes, like Michael. None of us would do it, you know. Take the stone in exchange for money. Not from another islander. It would just—in the end—it makes trouble, you know? People get jealous? And we don’t deal with the TCM if we can help it.” Her face suddenly clouded, saddened. “It’s too dangerous for us. They hate us. Anyway,” she brightened, “somebody from outside. Somebody—”

“Like Michael.”

“Yes, High Church, like Michael, or Muslim—somebody like that, is better. Even Mormon LDS—Sixers, I mean, not True Church. Just not TCM. We weren’t brokers, before, but Michael—”

“needed someone he could trust to run a House, ” finished Nejme.

Asach nodded, doodling idly with one finger on the table. Didn’t look up.

“Michael?”

He jumped.

“Michael, why were you messing about with middlemen in the dark of the night?”

He squirmed, uncomfortable, but did not reply.

“Michael, if Lillith Van Zandt wanted to horn in on the opal meerschaum trade, why another wholesaler? Why not deal direct?”

He squirmed again. “Well, we couldn’t, really. And anyway, like I said, I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what? Didn’t know something that, by the sound of it, at least half the children on this planet know? Oh, please, Michael. That’s not like you at all.”

He bridled. “Now look here, Asach, I’ve been completely frank with you. I don’t know—”

“Frank, yes, but completely? I think not. There’s more. Isn’t there Michael? More? Something more that Lillith Van Zandt wants to know.”

“Well, the source, of course. She wants the source.”

“Why? Why would she bother? Sounds like it gets trotted right up to her front door. Well, your front door, anyway.”

“I don’t know.” He was really whinging now. Asach hated it when he whinged. There wasn’t much to Michael but charm, and when that evaporated, what remained got under the skin. “She just said I had to. Had to deal with Orcutt. Had to follow Orcutt to the source.”

“The source of what?”

“Well, I just thought the meerschaum. Why not? I mean, there’s a market for it. I just thought she wanted to corner the market.”

“Oh good grief, Michael. Whatever for? Can you honestly see your mother bothering to corner the market in etched pipes and fireplace screens?”

But, again, just: “I don’t know.”

Exasperated, Zia interrupted. “Well, maybe Collie Orcutt knows.”

Michael looked blank. Asach looked interested. Nejme looked up. Mena froze. Lena began to speak, but Mena waved her down.

“Who?”

“Collie Orcutt? The previous owner? Went bust, oh, eight, ten years ago? TCM took his paper?”

“His paper?”

“His paper. His claim.”

Nejme filled in: “The mining rights to his land.”

“Oh, more than that, in his case. He was way, way in. Had a vision? Had a vision, of a united Church, here in Bonneville? But thought he was beyond the tithe. Way out there, in The Barrens, where they never go. Thought wrong. Borrowed from the wrong people, at the wrong time, at the wrong rates. True Church Militant got it all. Well, most of it. Mining, minerals, water: left him with a chunk of barrens and a solar well. Took in haulpaks and chewed up a couple of mountains. Made a fortune. That’s about when I was hired, clerking in the Bonneville warehouses. Then they dumped it all. Some consortium bought the claim. It’s still filed in Saint George and Pitchfork River. TCM still uses the warehouses, though. I’ve never met the current owners.”

“Yes,” said Lena, glaring at the ceiling, “Collie Orcutt got the wrong end of the Stick, as we say around here.”

“Not too loud, I hope,” said Ollie, dismally.

The night cold fell upon the courtyard. The House was quiet. All but Mena and Asach slept. A low fire burned in a ceramic stove, pulled close to the table, radiating warmth. Mena spoke softly.

“No, they won’t harm you. But you have to be prepared. That’s all Himmist country, out there, in The Barrens. They keep to themselves.”

“But you worship Him, yes?” Asach looked thoughtfully on the Eye above the doorway.

“Yes, of course. He sees us everywhere.”

Asach waited, patiently. Mena shook her head. “But you must understand. We look on you as an ally, a guest. We truly believe, as it is said: ‘In His Gaze, we are all pilgrims, we are all Seers, and all islands are One.’ But the backlanders?” She shook her head again. “They won’t harm you, but they won’t help you.”

“Why not?”

Mena sat a moment, finding the right words. “It’s hard for them, you know? They may help. But more likely, they will see you as a threat. They see everyone as a threat, and who is to blame them?” She shook her head sadly. “It is the history of our church: congregations smashed, driven into exile—first from New Scotland to New Ireland, then from New Ireland to Maxroy’s Purchase, then from the Purchase to Saint George, then out of Saint George to Bonneville—until there was nowhere left to go. Except The Barrens.”

“But you are still here in Bonneville.”

Mena nodded. “Yes. It’s the MP converts who fare the worst. Most of them were Mormons, you see. Sixer LDS, not True Church. People like us—direct descendents of the New Scotland Church of Him—” she waved her hand to indicate the household— “who were never Mormon to begin with, we’re all right. As long as we pay the tithe. But the former Sixers?” She shrugged her shoulders. “They are considered the descendants of heretics. Shunned. Cast out into The Barrens.”

“How is anyone to know?”

“You mean the Church?” she countered, aghast, then lowered her voice. “The True Church? Not know who an immigrant is descended from? Of course they know. That was one of the tenets of the schism. The primacy of reconstructing the genealogy of everyone, all the way back to Adam and Eve. The Sixers didn’t care so much about that any more. Didn’t think it was possible, anyway.”