“They weren’t here. Had they been here, we would not have been allowed to settle. Some years later, suddenly here they were. By that time, we had so much invested in this world that we chose to pretend we hadn’t seen them, difficult as that was, for the creatures were pertinacious. Though it may have been a stupid decision—indeed, in hindsight, was a stupid decision—we, the Hags, decided not to report their existence to the Council of Worlds, as that would have led to our immediate evacuation from Newholme.”
Marool frowned at the implications of this. Had she known about this matter? Had she ever considered this?
D’Jevier went on: “Years went by, and we still didn’t report it. The Timmys grew more numerous. At the same time, because of the … ah … unexpected sexual imbalance on this world, our population was growing far too slowly to do all the things our settlement plans had set forth. Suddenly, there were the Timmys, doing this little job and that little job, almost as though they had read our minds. One had only to utter and the task was done. Before we quite knew how it happened, the Timmys had become the better part of our workforce.”
Onsofruct snorted. “And our foremothers didn’t report that, either! Even a generation later we could have reported. Needless to say, we didn’t. We have committed a very grave offense in not reporting the existence of an intelligent and speaking race. This will not be to our credit.”
D’Jevier nodded agreement. “The Questioner, who takes the matter of indigenous races very seriously, will not excuse these omissions if it finds out about the Timmys.”
Marool shifted on her chair, frowning. “But why does the Questioner’s visit prohibit our asking the Timmys now about the wilderness?”
“We cannot take time to pursue the linguistic matter, since the Timmys are even now being banished.”
“Banished?” Marool was dumbfounded. “What do you mean, banished?”
“Sent away, into the mountains. The Questioner and her people aren’t blind! The Timmys must not be visible when the Questioner arrives.”
“But they do half the work in the city! On the farms! Everywhere!”
“Obviously they do,” D’Jevier replied. “But someone else will have to do that half! We’ve decided to make up the lack through press gangs. There are a good many supernumeraries who are underemployed, if they are employed at all. And then, the Consort Houses are full of young men who can be used, at least temporarily.”
Onsofruct asked in a suspiciously casual voice, “Do you use Timmys on your estate, Marool?”
“I do,” she said, rather angrily. “Though not in the house. There I prefer human servants, but I let the steward use them in the gardens, the fields, and in the stables.”
The two Hags bowed and glanced at one another again, each thinking that few persons had the unlimited wealth of a Mantelby with which to hire human servants. Or the unlimited number of nephews needing work.
“Then except for the stables and gardens, your mansion is staffed and run entirely by humans?” murmured D’Jevier.
“It is.”
Again that glance. D’Jevier nodded, saying, “Marool, would you consider letting us house the Questioner with you?”
Marool swallowed a snort and tried to formulate a polite mode of refusal, then bethought herself that it might be best not to refuse. Not yet, at any rate. “Why with me?”
D’Jevier rose and went to sit beside Marool, regarding her intently. “What do you know of the Questioner?”
“What anyone knows. There’s something about her in the Book of Worlds, the one we all learn to read from as children. I don’t think I’ve even heard the name of the Questioner used in a dozen years. Her creation always seemed to me to be a fool idea.”
Onsofruct said in a conciliatory tone, “Perhaps, but an idea with an ancient history, nonetheless. Mankind has long been interested in assuring ethical treatment of other races.”
“History is all well and good.” Marool snorted. “Ethical treatment is no doubt something we all wish to achieve. But if the Timmys have come here since we came, surely the Questioner would not insist on our leaving this world.”