wear only black because a perfect person can’t have any
distractions and color is distracting. There’re no distrac-
tions of any kind. No dancing, no singing, no merriment at
all. Maybe all the jokes the pirates told were brutal and
crude, but at least they had a sense of humor. There’s no
humor in this place.”
Myealn had slipped out of her bed. Now she leaned
close to Folly. “The other thing,” she whispered urgently.
“Tell them about the other thing.”
“I was getting to that.” Nervously, Folly glanced at the
doorway at the far end of the room. “Since a perfect
person doesn’t need silly things like merriment and pleas-
ure, one of the first things they do here is make sure
you’re made perfect in that regard.”
Mudge frowned. “Want to explain that one, luv?”
“I mean, they see to it that no pleasurable diversions of
any kind remain to divert you from the task of becoming
perfect.” The otter gaped at her, then waved to take in the
shuffling crowd of anxious, black-clad youngsters.
“Wot a bloody ‘ouse o’ devils we stumbled into! You
mean every one o’ these… ?”
Folly nodded vigorously. “Most of them, yes. The
males are neutered and the females spayed. To preserve
their perfection by preventing any sensual distractions.
They’re going to operate on me tomorrow.”
“Against your will?” Jon-Tom struggled to come to
grips with this new, coldly clinical horror.
“What could we do?” Myealn sobbed softly. “Who
would object on our behalf? We’re all orphans, none of us
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCK
167
even have guardians. And the Friends of the Street have a