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gesturing, the smallest of them was urged forward to, shyly, offer Alfvaen a circlet of braided fair-sea-blues. Alfvaen glanced at Tocohl, who responded, “If you’ll wear it and if you have some small
    off-world token you can give in return, you’ll make it a festival they’ll talk about for the rest of their lives.”
    Alfvaen lowered her head to accept the gift, and catching the child’s arm before he could dart away, she said, “All I have is a brass coin from Jannisett. That’s not very—”
    “It’ll do fine.”
    Alfvaen looked at Tocohl dubiously, then dipped into an overpocket for the coin. Tocohl stepped an inch closer to the child, familiar distance here in the south, and said in that language,
    “She offers you the
    Jannisetti truth-coin. The people of that world believe that while one holds this under the tongue, one cannot lie.”
    The child looked from Tocohl to Alfvaen, his eyes very bright and very wide. “Is it true?” he asked.
    Tocohl shrugged, Sheveschkem fashion. “At any rate,” she smiled, “one will learn that even truth can be bitter in the mouth.”
    “Oh!” said the child. He took the coin, kissed Alfvaen’s hand, and dashed back to his friends, who huddled excitedly about to see what he’d been given.
    “What did you tell him?” asked Alfvaen. Tocohl translated. When she’d finished, Alfvaen said,
    “But won’t they be disappointed when they learn there is no such thing?”
    Tocohl grinned. “Being conned by a trader at festival is more an honor than a disappointment.—And don’t be surprised if, the next time you’re here for festival, someone tries the line on you. The
    Sheveschkemen never let a good con go to waste.”
    The oldest of the three children waved an arm at Tocohl and called, “In Veschke’s honor, Hellspark!”
    Tocohl smiled and bowed to the child. Then she translated for Tinling Alfvaen, adding, “That is the polite way of saying she doesn’t believe a word of it, but, since this is festival, she’ll let it pass.”
    A thin, wiry man with woeful eyes pushed through the edges of the crowd. He grabbed Tocohl Page 18

    and swung her around in an enormous hug. “
    Geremy
    !” She thumped him joyfully on the shoulders, then shoved him out at arm’s length for a better look.
    He was, as always, a walking work of art. The stylized waves of a darkened sea surged rhythmically around his 2nd skin to break and spray at the unchanging bulk of his equipment pouch; a handful of sparks blew past, trailing their reflections in the dark waters. The design was locally generated by a microprocessor in the suit itself.
    “Very nice,” said Tocohl, turning him around to follow the course of the sparks as they blew beneath his baldric and reappeared on the other side. “Very nice indeed.”
    (I could do that with your 2nd skin, if you like,) Maggy said.
    (I’d like, but Geremy wouldn’t. I promise, I’ll explain later.) Aloud Tocohl said to Geremy, “Is that really a Ribeiro?”
    “It is, and when Ribeiro took the commission, she said she’d been thinking about the subject for a long time.” He folded his arms (along them stylized waves crashed soundlessly) and eyed her with suspicion. “Maggy said you needed a doctor, but you look disgustingly healthy to me.”
    “For the Siveyn here.” Tocohl drew Geremy around the two large merrymakers who hid Alfvaen from his view, but before she could begin a formal introduction, Geremy said,
    “Alfvaen? What happened?”
    “She took a very nasty beating,” Tocohl said.
    Geremy backed off a pace and looked with hurt astonishment at Tocohl. “You?” he said, once more in Hellspark. “Listen, Tocohl, about that judgment—”
    “She knows no more about it than I do,” said Tocohl, then caught the import of his first reaction.
    “Geremy, don’t be stupid. I haven’t changed that much since the last time we worked together!”
    She gestured at Alfvaen: “Please, look her over.”
    Chastened, Geremy shifted