“But boats are almost as stupid as cloaks. All they ever learn to understand are just a few commands.”

“The technique is the same.”

“Good.” Vaintè looked shrewdly out of the corner of her eyes and chose her words carefully. “Then you could teach an animal to understand and to speak?”

“No, not to speak. To understand, yes, a few simple commands if the brain is big enough. But speaking requires vocal apparatus and areas of the brain that animals do not possess.”

“But I have heard animals talking.”

“Not talking, repeating sound patterns they have learned. Birds can do this.”

“No, I mean talking. Communicating with each other.”

“Impossible.”

“I am talking about fur animals. Filthy ustuzou.”

Enge began to understand the point that Vaintè was making and she signed her understanding. “Of course. If these creatures have some degree of intelligence—the fact that they use crude artifacts suggests that—why then, they might very well talk to each other. What an extraordinary thought. You have heard them talk?”

“I have. And so can you if you wish. We have two of them here.” She waved over a passing fargi. “Find the hunter Stallan. Bring her to me at once.”

“How are the animals faring?” Vaintè asked when Stallan appeared.

“I have had them washed, then I examined their injuries. Bruises, no more. I have also had the filth-ridden fur removed from their heads. The larger one is female, the smaller one a male. They drink water, but will eat nothing I have provided so far. But you must be careful if you get close to them.”

“I have no intention of doing that,” Vaintè said, shivering with disgust. “It is Enge here who will approach them.” Stallan turned to her.

“You must face them at all times. Never turn your back on a wild animal. The small one bites, and they have claws, so I have manacled them for safety.”

“I will do as you say.”

“One other thing,” Stallan said, taking a small sack from her harness and opening it. “When I cleaned the beasts I found this hung about the male’s neck.” She placed a small object on the table beside Vaintè.

It was a blade of some kind, made of metal. There was an opening pierced at one end, while simple patterns had been scratched upon it. Vaintè poked at it with a tentative thumb.

“It has been thoroughly cleaned,” Stallan said. Vaintè picked it up and examined it closely.

“The patterns are unfamiliar, as is the metal,” she said, not liking what she saw. “Where did the animals find this? Who made the design? And the metal, where did they get that from? Do not try to tell me that they have the science to grow metal.” She tested the edge against her skin. “Not sharp at all. What can it possibly mean?”