across from him two seats down from Damson. Blank, dilated
ferret eyes peered at him, shifted to find Coil, blinked, and
stared some more.
“Good evening to you. Mole,” Damson Rhee said.
The Mole lifted his head a shade; his neck and shoulders
came into view, and his hands and arms lifted onto the table.
He was covered with hair, a dark, furry coat. It grew on every
patch of skin showing, save for where his nose and cheeks and
a swatch of forehead glimmered like ivory in the faint light. His
rounded head swiveled slowly, and his child’s fingers locked
together in a pose of contentment.
“Good evening to you, lovely Damson,” he said.
He spoke in a child’s voice, but it sounded queer somehow,
as if he were speaking from out of a barrel or through a screen
of water. His eyes moved from Par to Coil, from Coil to Par.
“I heard you coming and put on the lights for you,” he said.
“But I don’t much like the lights, so now that you are here, I
have put them out again. Is that all right?”
Damson nodded. “Perfectly.”
“Whom have you brought with you on your visit?”
“Valemen.”
“Valemen?”
“Brothers, from a village south of here, a long way away. Par
Ohmsford. Coil Ohmsford.”
She pointed to each and the eyes shifted. “Welcome to my
home. Shall we have tea?”
He disappeared without waiting for an answer, moving so
quietly that, try as he might, even in the almost utter silence,
Par could not hear him. He could smell the tea as it was brought,
yet failed to. see it materialize until the cups were placed before
him. There were two of them, one regular size and one quite
tiny. They were old, and the paint that decorated them was faded
and worn.
Par watched doubtfully while Damson offered a sip from the
smaller cup to the toy rabbit she held. “Are all the children
fine?” she asked conversationally.
“Quite well,” the Mole replied, seated agam now where he
had first appeared. He was holding a large bear, to whom he
offered his own cup. Coil and Par followed the ritual without
speaking. “Chalt, you know, has been bad again, sneaking his
tea and cookies when he wishes, disrupting things rather thor-
oughly. When I go up to hear the news through the street grates
and wall passages, he seems to believe he has license to reor-
ganize things to his own satisfaction. Very annoying.” He gave
the bear a cross look. “Lida had a very bad fever, but is recov-
ered now. And Westra cut her paw.”
Par glanced at Coil, and this time his brother glanced back.
“Anyone new to the family?” Damson asked.
“Everlind,” the Mole said. He stared at her for a moment,
then pointed to the rabbit she was holding. “She came to live
with us just two nights ago. She likes it much better here than
on the streets.”
Par hardly knew what to think. The Mole apparently collected
junk discarded by the people of the city above and brought it
down into his lair like a pack rat. To him, the animals were
real-or at least that was the game he played. Par wondered
uneasily if he knew the difference
The Mole was looking at him. “The city whispers of some-
thing that has upset the Federation-disruptions, intruders, a
threat to its rule. The street patrols are increased and the gate
watches challenge everyone. There is a tightening of the chains.”
He paused, then turned to Damson. He said, almost eagedy, “It
is better to be here, lovely Damson-here, underground.”
Damson put down her cup. “The disruption is part of the
reason we have come, Mole.”
The Mole didn’t seem to hear. “Yes, better to be under-
ground, safe within the earth, beneath the streets and the towers,
where the Federation never comes.”
Damson shook her head firmly. “We are not here for sanc-
tuary. ”
The Mole blinked, disappointment registering in his eyes.
He set his own cup aside and the animal he held with it, and he
cocked his rounded head. “I found Everlind at the back of the