Satsat looked with great unhappiness at the fargi and her companions now climbing into the uruketo, fought to order her thoughts. “She said that we had new Daughters of Life—but only daughters. For our city to grow and prosper in the natural way males were needed, as she has always said. We urged her not to go, spoke of the danger, but she would not listen to us . . .”

“I can well believe that.”

“Although she risked death she took the risk gladly. She felt that if she could but bring a single male to the wisdom of Ugunenapsa no sacrifice would be too great. She left us, did not return. Not last night nor this morning.”

“She did as she desired,” Ambalasei said coarsely, “her greatest wish has been granted. She is dead. She died to stop herself from speaking. Probably the only intelligent thing that she ever did in her entire life.”

Ambalasei turned away from the horrified Satsat and made her way into the interior of the uruketo and sought a dark and quiet spot to rest. She remained there for most of the return voyage, eating little but sleeping a great deal, ignoring the others. Although she did talk to some of the fargi, slowly and quietly with none of her usual brusqueness. Most of the time she slept. It was midday, warm and humid, when they returned. She was first ashore and left the unloading to the others. They had been seen upon the river and it seemed that the entire city was there.

“Looking instead of working. Typical of Daughters of Dissitude.” She ignored Enge’s respectful signed welcome and turned instead to her assistant, Setèssei. “I am sure many tragedies befell during my absence?”

“A few accidents—”

“Any fatal?”

“None.”

“Too bad. Otherwise the city grows in order?”

“It does.”

“That at least is appreciated.” She turned to Enge and signed for attention and obedience. “Walk with me along the shore where I can avoid sight of the Daughters and all thoughts of Ugunenapsa.”

“With pleasure. I see fargi aboard, so all was successful.”

“I would hardly say that. One has stayed behind in Alpèasak. Far<.”

“I do not understand. Why did she do that?”

“She had no choice. She was dead.”

Ambalasei spoke with enjoyable malice, then walked in silence until Enge had recovered some of her composure. When she spoke again her explanation of events was brief and unflattering.

“She died from applied stupidity, that is what I believe.”

“You are too harsh on the dead, Ambalasei. She will never trouble you again. She died in the hopes of seeing this city live. We will long remember her death with our sorrow.”