“Now what?” breathed Trompe.
“The leasehold of Bernesohn Famber is at the back,” said Chahdzi, sounding more cheerful than he had at any time during the day. “Only a few steps.”
He led them along the south side of the great hive, past numerous pore windows and a few skin doors, each made of a drum-tight hide lashed to a frame of poles. Then there were no more windows and doors in the walls, and they entered upon Bernesohn Famber’s private space: limited on the north by the featureless wall of the hive, on the south by the curving wall of the cave, on the west by his own living space, a small, single-story wing extruded from the hive: mud-colored, dome-roofed, softly rounded. Unlike the doors of our people, the annex door was made of planks, heavily strapped, hinged, and latched. The door had a lock. The single window was shuttered from inside.
“Is there a key?” Trompe asked, trying the door.
The latch rattled beneath his hand, and I, Saluez, opened the door from within.
They stared at me, Lutha and Trompe and the child.
I stood before them, my face veiled, holding a broom.
“What in hell?” demanded the tall, golden-haired man who came up behind me. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Dananana,” cooed Leely.
“Leelson,” gasped Lutha, surprise warring with fury on her face. “Leelson! Damn it all to hell, what are you doing here!”
We expected these people. We had been told to prepare for their arrival, so I had been inside the leasehold, cleaning it. I had fetched extra sleeping pads, extra blankets. I had brushed down all the walls and benches and had swept all the dust into a pile just inside the outer door. I had my hand upon the latch when it rattled, so I opened it. Lutha stood there, with Trompe and her child. I knew at once who they were, for we had been expecting them and I had seen them on the trail across the canyon earlier in the day. My father, Chahdzi, stood with them, but when he saw me, he turned and went away without speaking.
I stepped out of the way, drawing my pile of dust aside with my broom.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Trompe, moving aggressively toward the man, who had been with us for some time.
Lutha scooped up Leely and came inside. Her face was twisted with effort; she was trying to scream or curse, but her voice would not come. She managed only a snarling croak, only a step or two inside the door, before she slumped against the wall, her face going blank. I knew at once they had been given the emergency drink, the one we carry when we are out in the world and need to reach the hive before darkness. The drug does that, when it wears off. It leaves bodies limp and minds shut down. I took her arm and helped her sit down, and behind us the darkness came, as though a blanket had been dropped across the light.
I had a pot of tea already prepared as a restorative. I filled a cup and held it to Lutha’s lips. After a moment’s hesitation, she drank.
“Let’s get the door shut,” said Leelson, suiting his action to the words before opening the inside shutters to let the last of the dusk seep in between the bars.
Across the canyon, on the trail they had descended by, pallid forms were gathering.
“You arrived just in time,” said Leelson from the window.
Trompe shambled over to stand beside him, staring at the sight. I turned my face away.
“My god,” said Trompe. “How many of them are there?”
More white forms streamed in from the darkness of the southern canyon, a constant milky flow, a torrent of wings and fluttering membranes.
“Well,” Lutha said in a gargled whisper. “Was this the reason for our hurry? This assemblage?”
Since she spoke in my own language, I took it she was asking me. I bowed, murmuring, “On this world we do not talk of the things of night. Not in daytime voices. It is not wise.”