“How big can you grow?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“How much can you eat at once?”

“More than I ever have, I think.”

“Good is my friend,” he said. “Don’t eat him.”

“I won’t.”

Diamond sorted questions on a list that never grew shorter.

Then she said, “You interest me.”

“You interest me.”

“Do you know why I’m fascinated?”

“The same reason that you want to know about King,” he said. “We’re your brothers, in a fashion.”

“We are, and no.”

“Why then?”

“I heard you talking to your teacher. I was outside the window yesterday, and you told your teacher that nothing is evil. A voice said that to you.”

“I don’t know whose voice,” he said.

“But that interests me. Very much.”

Outside, the big engines were beginning to throttle back.

“They’ll tie down the ship before dawn,” Quest said.

Diamond needed sleep, and he feared closing his eyes. “Do you know the voice I’m talking about?” he asked.

Quest said nothing, and the grayness in the window held steady.

“Does some little voice push between all of those ears?” asked Diamond.

“I can have a thousand ears,” Quest said. “I weave them until they are huge and sensitive, and nothing escapes them. But I’ve never heard the voice you are talking about. It’s a stranger to me.”

Once again, Diamond put his face against the glass.

“That’s part of why you are fascinating,” she said.

And the boy said, “If you see so much, maybe you look in the other direction.”

“Do I watch the reef?”

“You do.”

“I never get close, because of the danger.”

“But you can’t stop watching for the other one. Can you?”

“You want to see what I know.”

“Everything,” Diamond said. “But we don’t have time. You pick for my eyes, sister. Please.”

TEN

King didn’t believe in demons or in nailing myth and human words against what refused to be understood. But he understood and accepted that every sphere had its center, and the Creation was the largest, most perfect sphere that could exist. Humans ruled what mattered, and the District of Districts was the center of what mattered, and his homeland had always rightfully dominated this wonderful rich world.

There had always been a Grand University clinging to the bloodwoods, and the University typically kept a powerful telescope lashed to its great trees. Forever pointing downwards, the giant tube and crystalline lenses had one target, one subject. When night was young—when ordinary souls saw nothing beneath but ink and the senseless glimmer of the demon floor—a Master’s eye, ruined by a life of hard reading, would be set against a round disk of glass, gaining the best possible view of the sun.

There were other methods of study. Any fire could be safely cast onto screens or trapped inside sealed boxes where its rich, complicated light might be carved into myriad flavors. Yet that flawless, perfect circle let itself be seen plainly only for brief times. That was when its qualities had been calculated. Lying at the bottom of Creation’s sphere, its size had proven to be changeless, its brightness fixed and eternal. Night was the shadow cast by the corona jungle. The jungle grew thick in a day and thicker through the night. Every night, the blackness won, alien weeds pressing against the brilliance until even young eyes with their lenses could see nothing but velvety blackness marred only by the coronas—a scattering of tiny brilliances thriving inside that fiery sodden alien realm.

King’s eyes were only a little sharper than human eyes.

But his vision was invincible.

Very late one night, the Archon’s son visited the telescope. Using his most polite voice, he begged the Masters for the honor to peer through their fancy glass. How could they refuse? Playing the curious boy, King linked his hands behind his back and bent low. The sun was invisible behind the forest. There was nothing below but ink and twenty thousand tiny glimmers. He counted the coronas. He asked old questions about light and demons and how the coronas managed to thrive in those depths. The Masters told him what they knew, and because they were paid to be smart, they spoke too much. Invincible problems always led to conflicting theories, and every theory had flaws that were patched with guesses. Calm, reasoned conversation ended with two old men falling into a much-loved argument about how much pressure the demon floor absorbed before it let the dawn rise. The other Masters stood back, enjoying these dried-out passions. Only King noticed when the corona jungle suddenly turned to flame, and he instantly wrapped both hands around the eyepiece, locking his grip on the tube, the right eye staring down at a blaze indistinguishable from a vast explosion.

Father was standing in an adjacent room. He was watching the arguing men when the first red flicker of dawn came through a distant window.

Instinct always rules over knowledge.

That was particularly true with humans.

The Archon yelled a warning and wave his arms, making a fool of himself before he remembered. And then every Master panicked. Those very smart men forgot what King was, or maybe they never understood. The new day washed over the world, finding a dozen weary bodies tugging and cursing at a child who couldn’t be moved, who had no intention of turning away from this marvel. Inner eyelids helped kill the glare. What a view, what a raw fine gorgeous spectacle! Then that eye was burnt and dead, and King calmly moved his face, placing the left eye against warm glass, watching one of the genuine marvels of Creation.

King was reliving that moment of sunshine, as he often did before rising. The soldier’s cot was too small for his body. Every eyelid was closed, armored hands folded across his bare belly, and his quick thoughts slipped from the sun to Father and Father to Diamond before leaping to the papio living on their coral ring.

Then the bedroom door opened, someone standing close.

“We caught her,” said the voice.

King wasn’t asleep or awake. But he sat up instantly, eyes still closed.

“Her little fleet is tied to the canopy, waiting for rain,” Father said.

Smiles could be worn outside, but he had to force both mouths to put on human smiles. Nobody appreciated how much work that took. He had to dress like a young man, even though his hard body was more impressive than any wardrobe. Talking with his eating mouth was rude—a rule that felt instinctively true to everyone, including King. With his polite mouth, he used polite words. “Thank you for telling me, Father.”

The little man remained beside the cot.

King opened his eyes.

The human face was looking up at him, and its expression was talking.

“What’s wrong, Father?”

“Very little, I hope.”

This day deserved the best clothes. Father’s tailors had used the toughest fabrics and thickest leather, and thirty days ago they built trousers and a shirt, boots and a wide belt, every article too big for the boy. But their target was a future child, today’s boy, and King acted happy with the clothes and he genuinely liked the heavy leather belt decorated with the heavy copper circles. Putting on the useless boots, he asked, “Is the crazy woman talking to us?”

Father grinned. “And she’s being clever.”

King wiggled the six toes inside their prison. “You said she’d be clever.”

“We’ve pulled up beside her ship, the Panoply Night,” Father said. “She’s invited me to cross over and meet with her.”

“This is your fleet,” the boy said.

Father stepped back. “It is mine,” he said.

This was a test. King liked this kind of test. He said, “You should order her to come over here.”

“Perhaps I already have.”

An idea teased. King smiled, asking, “How soon will the rain come?”