“I’ve lived in the Calla all my life. I’ve shared your khef and you have shared mine. Now hear what I say, I beg.”

“We say thankee-sai,” they murmured. It was little more than a stock response, yet Tian was encouraged.

“The Wolves are coming,” he said. “I have this news from Andy. Thirty days from moon to moon and then they’re here.”

More low murmurs. Tian heard dismay and outrage, but no surprise. When it came to spreading news, Andy was extremely efficient.

“Even those of us who can read and write a little have almost no paper to write on,” Tian said, “so I cannot tell ye with any real certainty when last they came. There are no records, ye ken, just one mouth to another. I know I was well-breeched, so it’s longer than twenty years—”

“It’s twenty-four,” said a voice in the back of the room.

“Nay, twenty-three,” said a voice closer to the front. Reuben Caverra stood up. He was a plump man with a round, cheerful face. The cheer was gone from it now, however, and it showed only distress. “They took Ruth, my sissa, hear me, I beg.”

A murmur—really no more than a vocalized sigh of agreement—came from the men sitting crammed together on the benches. They could have spread out, but had chosen shoulder-to-shoulder instead. Sometimes there was comfort in discomfort, Tian reckoned.

Reuben said, “We were playing under the big pine in the front yard when they came. I made a mark on that tree each year after. Even after they brung her back, I went on with em. It’s twenty-three marks and twenty-three years.” With that he sat down.

“Twenty-three or twenty-four, makes no difference,” Tian said. “Those who were kiddies when the Wolves came last time have grown up since and had kiddies of their own. There’s a fine crop here for those bastards. A fine crop of children.” He paused, giving them a chance to think of the next idea for themselves before speaking it aloud. “ Ifwe let it happen,” he said at last. “If we let the Wolves take our children into Thunderclap and then send them back to us roont.”

“What the hell else can we do?” cried a man sitting on one of the middle benches. “They’s not human!” At this there was a general (and miserable) mumble of agreement.

One of the Manni stood up, pulling his dark-blue cloak tight against his bony shoulders. He looked around at the others with baleful eyes. They weren’t mad, those eyes, but to Tian they looked a long league from reasonable. “Hear me, I beg,” he said.

“We say thankee-sai.” Respectful but reserved. To see a Manni in town was a rare thing, and here were eight, all in a bunch. Tian was delighted they had come. If anything would underline the deadly seriousness of this business, the appearance of the Manni would do it.