Ornery gulped, beginning to be sorry she had asked. “And the last one?”
“Mathilla. A similar story. A young bride of thirteen or fourteen in a world where women are hidden away. She was sequestered virtually alone in a harem by her old husband who was often away. The grown son of the old husband came to visit. He had a daughter her age, and he took pity on her and taught her to read and gave her books to pass the time. And when the old man found out, he charged her with adultery, though there had been nothing between the little wife and the grown son but pity and gratitude. She was stoned to death, for such is the penalty for adultery. Her own father threw the first stone.”
Ornery breathed deeply. “Do they remember dying?”
Questioner sighed deeply. “I sometimes think it is all they remember.”
Ornery said, “Many of our baby girls die, but not like that. They die when they are born. That’s why all women have to marry and have children, because they are so few. It’s why I pretend to be a man, so I won’t have to.”
She fell silent, thinking about Mathilla and Tiu and M’Tafa. She had never considered before that in other places, things could be far worse for women than they were on Newholme.
“Why did they pick brains with so much pain?” she asked.
Questioner hummed for a moment. “The technicians are long dead, so I can’t ask them. I know they wanted brains that were healthy, young, with few memories, so people dying of disease wouldn’t do. I know they had to make some advance preparation, so people dying suddenly in accidents wouldn’t do. They preferred planets which were less advanced, technologically, where fewer questions would be asked. They may even have been motivated by pity, thinking that, in a way, they were saving those three. And then, of course, they didn’t expect that I would ever know enough to bring them into memory.”
Ornery thought about this, lazily, which led her to another thought. “We met those two Earthers you brought with you. Why did you bring those particular ones?”
“They are dancers. I felt we might need dancers.”
“What for? You haven’t needed them, have you?”
“We are not yet finished with our visit though, are we?”
They went on a bit farther, and Questioner said, “Hark?”
Ornery listened for the sound of water, hearing instead the sound of voices. Someone or something was approaching from farther down the stairs.
Questioner unburdened herself, wakening Mouche, who shook himself sleepily, adjusting his pack and brushing wrinkles from his clothing. The voices came nearer. Questioner turned up her light.
They appeared quite suddenly around the turn of the stairs below, half a dozen Timmys, slim and graceful in their flowing membranes, plus a plump and furry bright violet creature a bit larger than they.
“Oh,” cried Mouche in a tone of great pleasure. “There you are!” The furry creature separated itself from its friends or colleagues and dashed up the stairs to fling itself on Mouche, huge hands holding to his shoulders, back legs braced against his body, both tail and body hair fluffed wide in the pure and glowing color Mouche well remembered.
The being put one hand on Mouche’s lips and said clearly, “Mouche, Mouche.” Then, looking around, “Duster?”
Tears filled Mouche’s eyes, part grief, part delight that his friend had remembered. “Dead,” he said. “Those two boys killed him.”
“Jongau,” said the creature in a tone of anger. “Very bad jongau.” He climbed sadly down, head bowed, then approached Ornery. “You are the sailor. Good! And you are Questioner?”
“Yes,” Questioner agreed with a regal nod. “And you are?”
“He’s my friend,” cried Mouche. “From when I was a boy. But he never talked, not then!”
“True,” said the creature, returning Ornery’s bow. “I did not talk to you then, but I was a friend. Also I am the last of the Corojumi, the last choreographer.”
“Choreographer,” said Questioner, intrigued. “A choreographer?”
“Once one of many, many, many. Now, only one.”
“What happened to the others?” Ornery asked.
“The jongau killed them. And took their skins. And took the skins afar, to some other place, where we could not retrieve them. And so my friends could not come to the Fauxi-dizalonz. They could not be reborn. And now, I am the only Corojum, one alone.”