“Naw, the King was a Mis’sippi boy,” Eddie said, low.

Tian turned in his saddle to look at him. “Beg your pardon, sai?”

Eddie, not aware that he’d spoken aloud, said: “I’m sorry. I was talking to myself.”

Andy the Messenger Robot (Many Other Functions) came striding back up the path from ahead of them in time to hear this. “Those who hold conversation with themselves keep sorry company. This is an old saying of the Calla, sai Eddie, don’t take it personally, I beg.”

“And, as I’ve said before and will undoubtedly say again, you can’t get snot off a suede jacket, my friend. An old saying from Calla Bryn Brooklyn.”

Andy’s innards clicked. His blue eyes flashed. “ Snot:mucus from the nose. Also a disrespectful or supercilious person. Suede: this is a leather product which—”

“Never mind, Andy,” Susannah said. “My friend is just being silly. He does this quite frequently.”

“Oh yes,” Andy said. “He is a child of winter. Would you like me to tell your horoscope, Susannah-sai? You will meet a handsome man! You will have two ideas, one bad and one good! You will have a dark-haired—”

“Get out of here, idiot,” Overholser said. “Right into town, straight line, no wandering. Check that all’s well at the Pavilion. No one wants to hear your goddamned horoscopes, begging your pardon, Old Fella.”

Callahan made no reply. Andy bowed, tapped his metal throat three times, and set off down the trail, which was steep but comfortingly wide. Susannah watched him go with what might have been relief.

“Kinda hard on him, weren’t you?” Eddie asked.

“He’s but a piece of machinery,” Overholser said, breaking the last word into syllables, as if speaking to a child.

“And he can be annoying,” Tian said. “But tell me, sais, what do you think of our Calla?”

Roland eased his horse in between Eddie’s and Callahan’s. “It’s very beautiful,” he said. “Whatever the gods may be, they have favored this place. I see corn, sharproot, beans, and…potatoes? Are those potatoes?”

“Aye, spuds, do ya,” Slightman said, clearly pleased by Roland’s eye.

“And yon’s all that gorgeous rice,” Roland said.

“All smallholds by the river,” Tian said, “where the water’s sweet and slow. And we know how lucky we are. When the rice comes ready—either to plant or to harvest—all the women go together. There’s singing in the fields, and even dancing.”

“Come-come-commala,” Roland said. At least that was what Eddie heard.

Tian and Zalia brightened with surprise and recognition. The Slightmans exchanged a glance and grinned. “Where did you hear The Rice Song?” the Elder asked. “When?”

“In my home,” said Roland. “Long ago. Come-come-commala, rice come a-falla.” He pointed to the west, away from the river. “There’s the biggest farm, deep in wheat. Yours, sai Overholser?”

“So it is, say thankya.”

“And beyond, to the south, more farms…and then the ranches. That one’s cattle…that one sheep…that one cattle…more cattle…more sheep…”

“How can you tell the difference from so far away?” Susannah asked.