“It’s almost morning,” said Kapetria. “This is Katu,” she said. She spelled it out for him. “And in the living room there is Welftu waiting to meet you. We are now seven in number. And by midmorning when we leave there will be two more. Garetu and Dertu’s child, though we don’t know what to call him. They are being born now.”

Derek was in shock. “How did you have the courage to try it?” He’d been so afraid that it would not work for each and every one of them. He had been so afraid of so many unknowns about it.

“We had to try it,” said Kapetria. “We had to try it before we met the Prince. We had to know. And what better time than before going to see the vampires with their astonishing powers. My left foot was sufficient to make this child,” said Kapetria, “and Welftu was made from Welf’s left hand. And had those appendages failed to develop into new beings, had our own appendages not regenerated, we could have taken the severed hand and foot to Fareed, the blood drinker’s healer, and asked for his help in restoring them.”

“And you think he would have done it?” asked Derek.

“Oh, yes. I think he’s ruthless for knowledge,” said Kapetria, “just as I am. I think he regards us as a treasure, a resource beyond imagining, just as I regard them as a treasure and a resource beyond imagining, a resource that has kept Amel living and breathing and now speaking.”

The smiling Katu came towards Derek. She was clothed in a smooth, tight dress of printed silk and wore those same fashionable black stockings that Kapetria wore, and the same delicate high-heeled shoes. She was Kapetria’s duplicate, of course, he thought, and only the hair, mingled gold and black, was different, the hair that had been brushed free.

But when she sat down beside him, Derek saw that her expression and demeanor were wholly unlike those of Kapetria. There was that same resolution and cleverness in her eyes that he’d seen in Dertu’s eyes. What was it? Emotional innocence?

“Uncle,” Katu said. “It’s not a beautiful word in English or French, but I think in Italian it is pretty.”

“Call him brother,” said Kapetria. “That’s how it should be. Call me Mother, yes, but we are all brothers and sisters really.”

They led Derek into the living room. There was an electric fire there, as pretty as the fire on the Benedicta, and Welftu was standing by the fireplace peering down into it as if its myriad programmed flames were fascinating to him. He came to greet Derek, to kiss him on both cheeks and to clasp hands. Then he went back to his fire, as if he were counting patterns in the flames.