“I keep thinking so, too,” Jandra agreed. “But Jelly says no. She was just there, on Ducky Johns’ back porch, and that’s it. Like she hatched there. No more memory than an egg.”
“What are you going to do with her?” Kinny wanted to know.
Jandra shrugged. “See if I can find her a home, I guess. Pretty soon, too. Jelly’s losing patience, having her around.”
Actually, it was not Jelly’s patience he was in danger of losing. Devotedly fond of Jandra though he was (and they two with an understanding about fidelity), the proximity of the girl’s body, lovely and uninhibited as some half-tamed beast, was leading him to worrisome desires.
“A week,” he told Jandra. “I’ll give you a week.” He thought he’d probably be able to control himself at least that long.
Rigo was determined to have a diplomatic reception. He was much encouraged in this by Eugenie, who was tired of the company of Opal Hill but who had no status which would allow her to go elsewhere. She could not even go to the Hunts. After the bon Damfels’ Hunt the Yrariers had observed three other Hunts; twice as a family, once with Fathers Sandoval and James along as guests. It was quite enough, as Tony said, to know that they were all alike. They had declined to observe more, and by doing so had confirmed the bons’ prejudice about them. By that time, however, Rigo had other things to think about. Some of the furnishings for the summer quarters had arrived along with Roald Few. who promised that everything would be completed in two weeks’ time.
“Draperies, rugs, furnishings, image projectors for the walls—everything. Everything elegant and of the highest quality.”
“Rigo wants to have a reception for the bons,” Marjorie told him.
“Hmmph,” snorted Persun Pollut.
“Now, Pers,” chided Roald. “The ambassador doesn’t know. During Hunt season, Lady Westriding, he’s unlikely to get anybody but second leaders and lower. People who don’t ride. Those who ride wouldn’t even consider coming, don’t you see?”
“We’d get Eric bon Haunser but not the Obermun?”
“That’s right. You’d get nobody at all from the bon Damfels’ except Figor. Obermum won’t go anywhere Obermun doesn’t. That isn’t done. All the rest of the family rides, what’s left of it.”
Marjorie stared at him, evaluating the open countenance before her. The man seemed without guile, and thus far he had treated her fairly. “I need information,” she said at last in a very quiet voice.
Roald dropped his own voice to a confidential level. “I am at your service, Lady Westriding.”
“The bon Damfels were in mourning when we were there.”
“Yes.”
“They’d lost a daughter. In a hunting accident. Eric bon Haunser has lost his legs, also, so he said, in a hunting accident. When I looked about me after that first Hunt I saw more biotic appendages than I would have seen in a year at home. I would like to understand these accidents.”
“Ah. Well.” Roald shuffled his feet.
“There are various kinds of accidents,” offered Persun in his soft, dry lecturer’s voice. “There is falling off. There is getting oneself skewered. There is offending a hound. And there is vanishment.” He said this last almost in a whisper, and Roald nodded agreement
“So we understand, Lady. The servants at the estancias are kinfolk of ours. They see things; they overhear things; they tell us. We put two and two together to make forty-four, when we must.”
“Falling off?” she asked. Riders fell off all the time. Rarely was it fatal.
“Followed by trampling. If a rider falls off, he or she is trampled into the grasses. Until nothing is left, you understand.”
Marjorie nodded, feeling sick.
“If you’ve seen a Hunt, you’ve seen how a rider might get skewered. It doesn’t happen often, surprisingly. The young ones ride simulators for days at a time, learning to stay out of the way of those horny blades. But still, once in a while someone faints or a mount stops too suddenly and the rider falls forward.”
Marjorie wiped her mouth, tasting bile.
“Offending a hound usually results in the hunter having an arm or leg or hand or foot or two bitten off when he dismounts at the end of the Hunt.”