“Trial and error,” she murmured to herself, being contrite. When Queen Fibji learned how many times Medoor Babji had remembered that particular lesson on this trip, she would no doubt be greatly gratified.
Also in the house was the mother of the young ones, Arbsen, who was also Sterf’s daughter and Saleffs nest sister: Of them all, Arbsen was the most silent, the most withdrawn. Some days she sat on one of the porches, her eyes following the children, broodingly intent. Other days went by during which Medoor Babji did not see her at all. She seemed to spend a great deal of time shut up in her own room at the top of the house, carving things. They were not Thrasne kinds of things, not definable images, but rather strange, winding shapes which seemed to lead from the current and ordinary into realms of difference, strangeness. Several of these articles decorated the walls of the house, and seeing them, Medoor Babji thought of Jarb Houses, wondering if the Treeci had such things. “Though I don’t suppose Treeci ever go mad,” she commented.
“Of course we do,” said Saleff, amused. “We are in all respects civilized.”
“You mean primitives don’t go mad?”
“I mean they don’t consider it madness. They would probably consider it being possessed by the gods, or in thrall to ghosts. Something of that kind.”
“How do you know all this? You’ve never seen a primitive.”
It came out as more of a challenge than she had intended, but Saleff did not take offense. “The humans have books, Medoor Babji. There is a printing press on Shabber’s Island. There are archives on Bustleby. There are men on Jake’s Island who spend all their time collecting information and writing things down. During the hunger—that is, the period before and during the Thraish-human wars after the weehar were all gone—the humans who came here brought many things with them. Books. Musical instruments. Equipment for laboratories where they make medicines. It was part of the reason they came, to preserve their knowledge. The humans called what was happening on Northshore a ‘new dark age.’ You understand that? We have learned from men, but we have also taught them. It has been an equitable exchange.”
Medoor Babji had that flash of elusive thought again, as though someone had just told her the answer to a long-asked question, but it was gone before she could grasp it, leaving her shaking her head in frustration.
She walked in the groves with the children. “Cindianda,” Taneff begged, “tell us stories of Northshore.” “What do you want to know?” “Tell us of the Noor. Tell us of the great Queen.” So, she invented, spinning incredible tales into the afternoon. Taneff was insatiable. Whenever she stopped, Taneff wanted more, more and more stories, and she began to look forward to these sessions under the trees during which she could let her imagination spin without fault. Nothing hung upon her stories but the day’s amusement, and she relished that.
Each morning when she woke, she resolved to get the boat repaired and set out in search of Thrasne. Each evening, she resolved it anew. Still, the days went by in placid grace, full of quiet entertainment.
One morning she rose early, conscience stricken or dream driven, determined to go to the shore and examine the Cheevle. She was amazed to find it had been almost entirely repaired. Only one of the planks remained to be replaced. Saleff had said nothing to her of repairing her boat, and she felt shamed that so much had been done without her help or thanks. She looked up to find him beside her, head cocked in that smiling position.
“Soon,” he said. “Some of the young people will want to go journeying soon, and they can go with you to find your friends.”
“When?” she begged, suddenly aware of how many days had passed.
He pointed skyward. “After Conjunction. Not now. The tides will be treacherous for a time. When Conjunction passes, they will fall into a manageable state.”
She examined the moons, surprised she had not noticed how near to Conjunction they were. It would be weeks before she could go. “I’ll never find him,” she said hopelessly. “Never.”