“Perhaps we won’t get there in one day,” she said casually.
“One must,” he said. Impersonal imperative. One must, that’s all.
“Dangerous to be out after dark, is it?” Trompe’s head was cocked, picking up all the little signals.
Chahdzi smiled, ducking his head slightly. “Danger has a place in the pattern, surely. And pain. Slidhza b’dasya a yana chas-as imsli t’sisri.”
Again Lutha translated to herself, fumbling with the word order. A wise person doesn’t use his own shuttle to weave sorrow. Or perhaps, a wise shuttle won’t weave grief.
“I do not understand,” she said.
He shrugged again, a habitual gesture. “It is foolish to create dark patterns for ourselves, matron. Weaving Woman will include enough darkness, whether we wish or no. Let us hope for a bright pattern tomorrow, if we are her beloved children.” He pointed to the child. “That one is. Everyone says so.”
“Now, why is that?” Trompe asked, amazed.
“He knows.” Chahdzi smiled. “Everyone says he knows.”
“Knows what?” asked Lutha, wonderingly. “Knows what, Chahdzi?”
“Knows,” he said softly. “What is. Patterns. What comes next.”
Though his words were not unlike other comments the Dinadhi had made about Leely, they were no more explanatory. The boy himself showed no signs of knowing what needed doing, unless sleeping was it.
“Will you eat with us?” asked Lutha.
“I accept your generous offer of food,” he said, looking away from her in obvious discomfort.
His tone made her realize that he would have gone hungry had she not offered, and also that one did not say “eat with us” on Dinadh.
Damn! She hadn’t given sufficient thought to some of the stuff she’d found in the culture chips!
“Since I do not know your taste,” she said carefully, “will you do us the courtesy of choosing for yourself?”
He went happily to the food unit, where he stood for a long time in contemplation of the listed menu, mumbling to himself.
“I like very much the taste of cheese,” he said, pointing at a certain item and using their own word, cheese, which evidently did not exist in his own language. “But I cannot eat of it unless … ”
She came to his assistance, reading labels. “It’s all right. Everything in here is dosed with the necessary enzymes. Trompe and I have commented that you have no dairy beasts on Dinadh.”
“It is said we brought milk creatures from our former world,” he murmured. “But here, Weaving Woman could not permit them. Here our pattern changed.”
“Human-owned flocks of grazers and browsers have ended a good many patterns,” grunted Trompe. “Once man killed off the natural predators and let them multiply.”
“So it is said,” agreed Chahdzi, glancing at Lutha from the corner of his eyes as she manipulated the food-service unit. Something light for herself and for Trompe. She would feed Leely when he wakened. As for Chahdzi, who was obviously apprehensive that they might watch while he ate, she would make the matter simple.
She handed him the warmed packet of cheese and cereal-food, saying, “Perhaps you would enjoy your meal on the porch?”
“Indeed.” He bowed gravely and took it away with him, leaving Trompe and Lutha to eat their own selections in silent company. Chahdzi might be out of sight, but he was not out of earshot, so Lutha did not mention her annoyance at the thought of a long climb on the morrow and Trompe did not remark upon the feelings he picked up from Chahdzi: awe, hope, terror, anger. The same feelings he’d detected in the serving girl at the hostel. The same strange combination.
As they ate, Lutha dug out a handful of culture chips and scanned the indices, muttering to herself.
“Nothing there on the subject?” Trompe asked, sotto voce, elaborately nonspecific concerning which subject.
“Not a … nothing,” she replied. “You’d think—”
“The language chips I gave you were prepared by the people at Tasimi-na-Dinadh,” he murmured thoughtfully. “All properly indexed for use by possible leaseholders and no doubt somewhat edited … ”
“A sales pitch, in other words,” she muttered.
He nodded. “They were the most recent chips the Procurator had, though he also gave me some old ones made by independent researchers. I didn’t pass them on to you because they looked like heavy going. They’re really old, and they aren’t indexed at all.”