“Nothing like a heady dose of danger to wake one up,” Poracious agreed. “Well, Procurator? What do we do next?”
“With what we’ve seen happening currently, there must be dozens of episodes in the record that will warrant perusal by experts.”
“Experts.” She laughed. “Ha!”
“Well, by people who might have specialized insights, at least. Some other Fastigats than myself should see this. Also some linguists who specialize in sight languages.”
“Sight language?” Jiacare Lostre cocked his head curiously.
“There are, or were historically, several sight languages for people who couldn’t hear. Now, of course, such languages aren’t necessary, but we still have records of them. The girl mutters to herself a lot, so we can pick up clues as to what she’s thinking. She said ‘telling stories’; she said ‘ritual’; both in connection with that pictorial thing they do. I’d be interested in knowing what others think.”
“What do you think?” demanded the ex-king.
The Procurator considered. “The episode with the running woman had the feel of a story, didn’t it?”
“Was the woman actually her mother?” Poracious asked.
“Each time the woman appeared, she, Snark, subvocalized the word,” said the Procurator. “She said the word mother, and her throat and mouth sensed the shaping of the word. Whether she actually believes so, we don’t know. Her thoughts can’t be recorded. Only what she senses.”
Poracious mused. “If the woman was her mother, then the girl was a child there, on Perdur Alas. A survivor from the former Ularian crisis?”
The Procurator shook his head. “It seems impossible. She’d have to have been third or fourth generation.”
“We’ve found great-grandchildren of colonists before.”
“True.” He stared at his hands, surprised to find them trembling. “I’ve just thought, Lutha Tallstaff is a linguist. One of the best, according to my sources. I don’t know if she knows anything about sight languages, but it’s worth bringing her from wherever she was sent. What was the name of the place?”
“Cochim-Mahn,” said Poracious.
“We should be fetching her anyhow. She’s at danger if those two assassins are on the loose. And meantime, we should be bringing in some other experts to experience what this girl is going through.” The Procurator stared blindly at his companions. “Think of it. The first human contact with a life-form that speaks, and it speaks a nonverbal language.”
The ex-king remarked, “My Minister of Agriculture would say we don’t know that it’s speaking. It could be merely replaying things it has seen. My Minister of Agriculture would deny it thinks. He says the universe was made for man.”
Poracious stared at the wall, remembering. She didn’t believe it was a mere replay. There had been too much relish in the retelling. Reshowing. She went to the door and beckoned to the tassel-bearded rememberer waiting outside. He rose, bowing attentively as she said:
“Will you please send word to Cochim-Mahn that we need to get Lutha Tallstaff here, as quickly as possible.”
“And Trompe,” called the Procurator. “Bring him as well!”
The rememberer stared at the ceiling, shifted his feet, cleared his throat.
“Well?” demanded Poracious, suspiciously. “What?”
“Inasmuch as we had determined the assassins were no longer where they belonged, I took the liberty of communicating with Cochim-Mahn. While you were … occupied.”
“And? Come on, man. Spit it out. All this havering merely makes us itch.”
“They’re gone,” he blurted. “She, the boy, her companion. As well as Leelson Famber. Also a shadow woman. An eaten one.” He curled his lips around the word, whether in disapproval or disgust, she couldn’t tell.
“Gone?” she cried.
“Leelson Famber!” exclaimed the Procurator as he joined her in the doorway. “When did Leelson Famber come here?”
The rememberer shrugged, looking from face to face as though trying to decide which question to answer first. “He came, sir, some time ago. And it is believed by those at Cochim-Mahn that they may all have gone to Tahs-uppi.”
Jiacare Lostre joined the others in the doorway. “Gone where?”
“Gone to what,” corrected the rememberer. “A ceremony. Held once every sixty years or so. At the omphalos. At the sipapu. At Dinadh’s birthplace, the site of our emergence. The songfather of Cochim-Mahn believes they have gone there, and he is pursuing them. The assassins asked questions about the ceremony, so we believe they’re headed there also.”