Calvin chuckled.

«Tell me what's funny?» Honor‚ demanded.

“I was just thinking– maybe it wasn't you what peed on your trousers.”

Honor‚ pondered this for a few moments. «For that matter, my friend, maybe it wasn't you who peed on yours.»

Calvin groaned. «You are an evil man, Honor‚, with an evil imagination.»

“It is my knack.”

Not till they got to their room and were changing clothes had Calvin's head cleared enough for him to realize the significance of what the ladies were talking about by the hedge. “A schoolteacher abolitionist named Peggy? That's got to be Miz Larner, the schoolteacher Alvin married.”

“Oh, my poor Calvin. You went three days without mentioning your brother, and now you have relapsed.”

“I been thinking about him ever since we got that letter from Mother telling about the wedding and how the curse was lifted and all. I wonder if he plans on having seven sons.” Calvin cackled with laughter.

«If he has such a plan we must find him and stop him,» said Honor‚. «Two Makers is more than the world needs already. We have no need for three.»

“What I'm thinking is we ought to look up this bluestocking abolitionist Peggy and make her acquaintance.”

“Calvin, what kind of trouble are you planning to make?”

“No trouble at all,” said Calvin, annoyed. “Why do you think I want to cause trouble?”

“Because you are awake.”

“She's going to have an audience with the Queen. Maybe we can slip in with her. Meet some royalty.”

“Why will she help you? If she is married to Alvin, she must know your reputation.”

«What reputation?» Calvin didn't like the direction Honor‚'s comments were tending. «What do you know about my reputation? I don't even have a reputation.»

“I have been with you continuously for months, my friend. It is impossible you do not have a reputation with your family and your neighbors. This is the reputation that your brother's wife would know.”

“My reputation is that I was a cute little kid when anybody bothered to notice that I existed.”

“Oh no, Calvin. I am quite sure your reputation is that you are envious, spiteful, prone to outbursts of rage, and incapable of admitting an error. Your family and neighbors could not have missed these traits.”

After all these months, to discover that Honor‚ had such an opinion of him was unbearable. Calvin felt fury rise up inside him, and he would have lashed out at Honor‚ had the little Frenchman not looked so utterly cheerful and open-faced. Was it possible he had not meant to offend?

«You see what I mean?» said Honor‚. «You are angry even now, and you resent me. But why? I mean no harm by these observations. I am a novelist. I study life. You are alive, so I study you. I find you endlessly fascinating. A man with both the ambition and the ability to be great, who is so little in control of his impulses that he pisses away his greatness. You are a tiger studying to be a mouse. This is how the world is kept safe from you. This is why you will never be a Napoleon.»

Calvin roared in fury, but could not bring himself to strike Honor‚ himself, who was, after all, the only friend he had ever had. So he smashed the flat of his hand against the wall.

«But look,» said Honor‚. «It is the wall you hit, and not my face. So I was not entirely right. You do have some self-control. You are able to respect another man's opinion.»

“I am not a mouse,” said Calvin.

“No no, you did not understand. I said you are studying to be a mouse, not that you have passed your examinations and are now living on cheese. When I hear you go, squeak squeak squeak, I think, What an odd noise to come from a tiger. I have known few tigers in my life. Many mice, but few tigers. So you are precious to me, my friend. I am sad to hear this squeaking. And your sister-in-law, I think all she knows of you is the squeak, that is what I was saying before. That is why I doubt that she will be glad to see you.”

“I can roar if I need to,” said Calvin.

«Look at how angry you are. What would you do, hit me? That, my dear friend, would be a squeak.» Honor‚ looked at his own naked body. «I am filthy like a wallowing pig. I will order up a bath. You may use the water when I'm done.»

Calvin did not answer. Instead he sent his doodlebug over the surface of his own body, ejecting all the dirt and grime, the dried-on urine and sweat, the dust and ashes in his hair. It took only moments, for once he had shown his doodlebug what to do, it could finish on its own without his directing it, just as his hand could keep sawing without him thinking of the saw, or his fingers tie a knot without him even looking at the string.

Honor‚'s eyes grew wide. «Why have you made your underwear disappear?»

Only then did Calvin realize that every foreign object had been pulverized and ejected from his body. “Who cares? I'm cleaner right now than you'll ever be.”

“While you are using your powers to beautify yourself, why not change your odor? To a flower, perhaps. Not a nasturtium– those already smell like unwashed feet. What about a lilac? Or a rose?”

“Why don't I change your nose to a cauliflower? Oops, too late, someone already did.”

«Aha, you are insulting me with cabbages.» Honor‚ pulled the string that would ring a bell in the servants' quarters.

Calvin pulled on some clean clothes– cleanish, anyway– and was just leaving the room when a slave arrived in response to Honor‚'s Summons. Honor‚ was buck naked now, without even shirttails to conceal nature's modest endowment, but he seemed utterly unaware; and, for that matter, the slave might not have seen him, for her gaze never seemed to leave the floor. Honor‚ was still specifying exactly how many kettles of hot water he wanted in his tub when Calvin started down the stairs and could hear the Frenchman's voice no more.

Lady Ashworth's door was opened by a wiry old slave in close-fitting livery. “Howdy,” said Calvin. “I heard tell that my sister-in-law Peggy Smith was visiting here and–”

The slave walked away and left him standing at the door. But the door was still open, so Calvin stepped inside onto the porch. By habit he sent his doodlebug through the house. He could see from the heartfires where everybody was; unlike Peggy, though, he couldn't see a thing in the heartfires, and couldn't recognize anyone in particular. All he knew was a living soul was there, and by the brightness of it, whether it was human or not.

He could guess, though. The heartfire moving slowly up the back stairs must be the slave who had opened the door for him. The heartfire on the porch above Calvin, toward which the slave was moving, had to be Lady Ashworth. Or Lord Ashworth, perhaps– but no, he was likely to be as close as possible to the King.

He set his doodlebug into the floor of the upstairs porch, feeling the vibration caused by their talking. With a little concentration, it turned into sound. The slave sure didn't say much. “Gentleman at the door.”

“I'm expecting no callers.”

“Say he sister be Peggy Smith.”

“I don't know anyone by such a… oh, perhaps Margaret Larner– but she isn't here. Tell him she isn't here.”

The slave immediately walked away from Lady Ashworth. Stupid woman, thought Calvin. I never thought she'd be here, I need to know where she is. Don't they teach common civility to folks in Camelot? Or maybe she's so high up in the King's court that she didn't need to show decent manners to common folk.

Well, thought Calvin, let's see what your manners turn into when I'm through with you.

He could see the slave's slow-moving heartfire on the back stairs. Calvin walked into the house and found the front stairs, then bounded lightly up to the next floor. The family entertained on this level and the large ballroom had three large French doors opening onto the gallery, where Lady Ashworth was studying a plant, pruning shears in hand.