Osa frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because Dai-so Kolos hates fishing. They have ever since they saw me put a barbed swordfish hook through my hand.”

*   *   *

BOLTS of fluttering sailcloth divided the courtyard of the embassy into warm shade and narrow ley lines of sunlight. Oriati griots sang soothing stories, people of wealth and influence schooled and darted in ever-shifting cliques, and even the big security men were armed only with tall glass flutes of wine. Not in an oil portrait in the Exemplaries could Baru have found a finer picture of springtime ease.

“Look at all the tits,” Shao muttered. “It’s like a bordello revue.”

“There’s very little breast partialism on Kyprananoke,” Tau said, as if Shao’s disapproval were born of ignorance, rather than disdain. “It’s simply a matter of culture. Rather like your royalist era in Falcrest, when I believe the taboo was instead on bare calves?”

“Don’t you speak of our royalty,” Shao snapped. “You made them, didn’t you?”

Baru rolled her eyes. “Let’s split up. Tau, take Osa and go make your hellos.”

“Whyever should we?” Tau protested.

“We’ll center everyone’s attention if we stay together.” Also, she needed to begin showing pictures of Iraji and repeating the Cancrioth phonemes. “Shao, with me, if you will.”

Baru was relieved to find everyone’s Aphalone very good, and more relieved to find Shao Lune kept her fangs folded. They circulated about the pleasant courtyard, making introductions beneath the blooming lilacs and the chatter of little honeyeater birds. Shipping factors from a new local concern (Consolidated Kyprananoke Hulls, Largely Liable) put out feelers about sponsorship from Falcrest, for wasn’t it about time that the Republic admitted Taranoke was just too much trouble as a trade port? Several dashing young local women who styled themselves griots and truthtellers confronted Baru about the possibility of civil war.

“War is a bloody business,” Baru assured them, “and causes plagues. We’re here as friends.”

A fat Kyprananoki man in a lovely dashiki dress came at them sidelong, and archly: his body was female and the dress was androgynous, but he made his masculinity plain with paint and carriage. “Ah,” he drawled, in a voice smoked by a long hash habit, “the unexpected guest from Falcrest. What a lovely gem in your mask. It must be a very subtle symbol of something.”

“It represents obscene wealth,” Baru deadpanned, taking his hand. “What a wonderful dress.”

“Thank you kindly. Would you like to buy it? I’m rat broke.” His eyes flickered over Shao Lune. “A net? Are you a fish?”

“I’m Miss Plane’s slave,” Shao said, sweetly.