“Show me Haddi,” Father said.

“I told you. She’s with us.”

“And what will the Archon pay you?”

“I didn’t ask about money,” the doctor said.

“Because you’re a noble, honest man.”

The doctor said nothing.

“Helping kidnap a man’s child,” Father said, dropping his hand on Diamond’s shoulder.

The little man said nothing.

“This is all wrong,” Master Nissim said. “The Archon doesn’t make law. No matter how powerful he thinks he is, he doesn’t have that right.”

The doctor sighed wearily. “You won’t believe me, I know. You can’t. But the man doesn’t want anybody hurt. Bringing your wife is proof of that. And besides, the boy isn’t yours, Merit. Not by blood or by any law. So I don’t think you gentlemen should talk too hard about legalities and a parent’s noble rights.”

“Fine,” Father said. “We’ll march to court and make our claims.”

The doctor clung to the railing.

“Or you can come here,” Father added. “Let me dance your face into the ground a few times.”

The doctor winced and looked over his shoulder. “I told you,” he shouted. “I knew he’d be difficult.”

And the Archon stepped into view.

It was the same man Diamond saw at the crossroads. He was no bigger than the doctor, but nothing about him was small. Erect and confident, he stood at the high end of the gangway, his smile secure. A sharp, unhurried laugh was offered. One hand made an important gesture, and another. Then he offered a few words to somebody out of view, and Mother appeared, her left arm held tightly by one of the men who had followed them this morning.

She called to Diamond. With a scared tight voice, she said, “You don’t want to get on this ship. Run now, go.”

The man pulled at her arm, and she winced.

Diamond was sick and he was angry. Reaching behind his back, he once again touched the butcher knife.

Two more men appeared. One was limping, his left leg covered with a long white bandage, his face twisted in pain. The other man started down the gangway, and with a loud high voice, the Archon told him, “This doesn’t need to be ugly.”

“It won’t be,” the walking man promised.

The limping man followed, glaring at Nissim with each miserable step.

With help coming, the doctor turned courageous. Shaking his head and wagging a finger, he asked, “What did you think, Merit? That you could keep this creature secret all of his life?”

A soft, sorry noise leaked out of Seldom.

Master Nissim brought out his long knife, holding it with the practiced hand.

Then Elata grabbed Diamond by the shoulder and shook him hard, as if trying to yank him to pieces.

“Don’t let them have you,” she cried out.

Then Father looked squarely at his eyes. “Run now,” he said. “Run, run, run, run!”

High quiet places were the best places to sit, watching the days pass while listening to the voices inside.

The sun never found the back of this wide, weather-battered crevasse.

Hiding was easy here.

Even better, the dark air was reliably, deliciously cool, which meant that the body was comfortable. That great bundle of life sat on a thick mat of dash-and-ash fibers that had been stretched across the powdery old coral, and there was fresh water and there was ample food in easy reach, and every piece of that gigantic shape was happy enough. Good familiar smells waited to be inhaled. The rugged beautiful reef fell away before it, while behind and above were woeful-vines and deadeyes and other odd growths that carpeted the darkest portions of the reef, rising up to the edge of existence. But best of all, nobody was keeping the body company just now. Others were supposed to be here. The body had several dozen attendants—children dedicated to seeing to its occasional needs. It was honorable work, helping this gift from the Creators. But honor was something that could be found every day. Honor was a routine, rather boring business. But today the tree-walkers were visiting the butchering ground, and a large dead corona had been dropped into the valley directly below, and one of today’s visitors happened to be a famous old slayer who had killed the corona with his harpoon and a lightning bolt: each one of those reasons was a good enough excuse for children to leave the body where it was, secure and safely out of sight.

All that happened long before the injured fletch ship arrived; and an interesting day suddenly grew into something quite a bit better.

There was no debate inside the body, no battles of doubts and desires. Huge eyes focused on the visiting machine, seeing its name and the homely monkey woman riding the ship’s bow, and inside the same moment, every voice said, “Happenstance.”

In all, there were eight voices, and in the next moment, most of the voices began to tell old stories about that particular ship.

Tree-walkers were smaller than papio which was why they preferred to ride inside enormous bags of gas. At least that was an explanation often heard in this realm. They were tiny and scared monkeys, but the blimps and fletches and big airships inflated with explosive gas made them feel a little larger and just a little less fearful.

Eight voices inhabited the body hiding inside the old crevasse. They shared the same long mouth, the same bowl-like ears, while twin black and gold eyes stared at the magnificent world.

Over more than nine hundred days of life, each voice had watched the gas ships come from the distant forest and then return again. With identical memories, unerring and apparently effortless, they learned the names of important ships and the special monkeys, just as they absorbed each of the faces and names and life histories and peculiar talents of those deemed worthy of looking into their great face. On several occasions, they saw the monkey ships destroyed. Ships had accidentally caught fire and fallen apart, corona skins and motors and dying bodies plummeting through the floor of the sky. And coronas had destroyed other ships that came too far out from the forest.

The Happenstance triggered all of those stories, and no two voices agreed on anything but the details. These eyes were equal windows, yet some of the voices were thrilled, even amused by these disasters. Others were nothing but sad. Each voice was balanced on a soul, and souls were notoriously independent. Reactions varied according to their natures, but there were deeper variations too. Each told its stories in its own manner. They shared senses and experiences, and they shared a massive home of odd bones and mismatched meat; but some different part of what had happened before had to be accented. Different details were pulled out of a perfect memory. Every voice clung to its version of the same tragic incidents, marking the death of creatures that had done nothing wrong to them, and for that matter, nothing right either.

The damaged fletch arrived, and the Eight talked and talked and talked.

Except one of the voices didn’t tell any stories.

Something here seemed odd or important. But she wasn’t sure what she was thinking, which was a good reason to say nothing. She watched the tree-walkers come out of the fletch. Some to them might never have stood on real ground before. They talked to one another and talked to the man who waved flags, and then the newcomers walked from one low spot to the next, coming a little closer, and she stared at their walks, noticing more by the moment.

Every voice had its name.

The silent voice preferred to be called Divers.

Nobody else noticed what Divers noticed. Monkey children were unusual and interesting, and she studied them closely in the corners of the eyes, noticing the deep oddities holding tight to one of those tiny bodies.

And still she said nothing.

Another voice finally mentioned the children, in passing, and then another wondered what they were doing on the reef.