So an eager, dancing procession led them down the stairs and to a big dining room whose buffet table was already laden with steaming dishes. Pakt’s wife, a middle-aged gulden woman, was arranging the plates of food as Hiram and Nolan entered, but she did not look up. A small, solemn girl stood by her side, apparently receiving instruction in a low murmur. Nolan could not catch any of this conversation. Perhaps it was in a gold-tongue.

Sochin and Pakt were already seated and talking casually when the boys descended on them like a gold-dust whirlwind. Nolan was not surprised to see Pakt greet each of his sons with a rough but obvious affection, faking punches to their chests and ruffling the bright hair with his big hands. They had spoken of their father proudly; clearly, he was a figure of dominant importance in their lives. But that they adored him was equally evident. Nolan could think of a good many indigo boys who respected their parents but did not love them.

The ten-year-old was clutching his father’s arm with one hand and gesticulating with the other and chattering unbelievably quickly in goldtongue. Pakt held up his free hand.

“Ah—now—what have I told you? Speak in a language that your guest understands or you do dishonor to yourself.”

The boy switched to indigo words. “Father, this one says his skin is blue everywhere! But he would not show me. Do you think he was lying?”

Pakt looked, for the first time since Nolan had known him, actually embarrassed. But both Hiram and Nolan were laughing, and so the guldman allowed a smile to come to his face.

“Just tell me the protocol here,” Nolan said with a grin. “I told him it was rude to ask, but I don’t mind giving him scientific evidence if you think that’s better.”

“I think it’s better that he be sent to his room till he can learn to mind his manners with guests,” Pakt said with a certain heat. “Nolan, I apologize on behalf of my son.”

“He told us his father encouraged an inquisitive mind.”

“Not in those words, I assume.”

“No, but I wasn’t offended. Don’t send him away on my account.”

Indeed, the young offender looked pathetically crushed, his eyes fixed pleadingly on his father’s face, both hands now attached to Pakt’s arm. “Let me stay,” he begged. “I won’t say another word.”

Pakt glanced over at Nolan. “Ask the gentleman whom you have dishonored with your careless talk,” he suggested. “If he allows you to stay at the table, you may.”

Nolan resisted the impulse to say, “Sure, eat with us,” since Pakt was obviously trying to make a point. He waited till the hangdog young boy took a few reluctant steps closer and bowed his bright head in a gesture of supplication.