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smiled deprecatingly. A little bird told us.
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Turning toward the door, he snapped his fingers twice. Simna tensed, expecting the armed servitors to
enter. Instead, a young white-clad acolyte appeared. His robe was emblazoned with only two golden
symbols. In the wire cage he carried, two small golden parrots were chattering and chirping contentedly.
Ehomba remembered seeing their like among the flocks of songbirds that had announced their arrival in
Tethspraih. And they had been common in the eaves above the tavern, and in the streets of the town, and
among the stone sculptures that festooned the rectory.
They looked like ordinary birds, more spectacularly plumaged than some, less active than others. No
more, no less.
After placing the cage on the table, the acolyte bowed respectfully to his superiors and backed out the
way he had come. As he passed through the door, Ehomba noted that at least some of the armed
servitors remained stationed in the hall outside. While impressive, the monks confidence was evidently
not absolute.
The middle speaker placed an affectionate hand on the top of the cage. These are Spraithian cockatells.
They are very good mimics. Most parrots and other members of their related families can listen to human
speech and recite it back. Cockatells are able to do the same with thoughts.
So that s how you spy on your people. Simna s lips were tight. We saw the damn little shitters
everywhere. How can someone s thoughts be their own if there s a bird on every windowsill, in every
branch, on the fence post outside each house, soaking up what and how they re thinking? And of course,
you people have em trained like pigeons, so that after soaking up enough thoughts they come flying back
here, where you can milk them of other folks privacy.
You make it sound like a forced intrusion, the woman responded disapprovingly. No one is harmed,
no one senses the cockatells at work, and peace and prosperity reign throughout the land. Reaching into
a pocket of her robe, she removed something and stuck it between the bars of the cage. The vivacious,
feathered pair immediately descended from the perch where they had been chattering to nibble eagerly at
the proffered gift. In addition, they are playful, attractive birds.
I didn t see anyone playing with em, Simna responded. And why do I have this gut feeling they re
not real popular as pets?
Do not blame the birds. Ehomba gently admonished his friend. It is not their fault they have been put
to such a use. I doubt they have any notion of what they are involved in. He watched the pair use their
sharp beaks to shell and then spit out the husks of tiny seeds. As the savants say, they are only mimics.
They listen, and repeat, but do not understand.
You couldn t find better spies, Simna growled. His outrage at the invasion of his innermost privacy
was complete, but out of deference to his friend his sword stayed in its scabbard.
So from what you have learned from some birds you have decided that our manner of thinking is
wrong, and that you have the right to change it. Even if we are happy with the way we think and do not
want it changed. The herdsman met each of the savants eyes in turn.
You will thank us when we are done. The woman was beaming again. You, she declared, directing
her words to the quietly fuming Simna, will become a much more pleasant and less belligerent person,
one who is kind to others and supportive of extended contemplation.
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By Gouzpoul, don t count on it. The swordsman s fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon.
And you, she continued as she turned slightly to face Ehomba, will become a teacher, devoting your
life to the spreading of the way of proper thinking among uncivilized peoples.
It sounds like an admirable calling, Ehomba told her. Unfortunately, I already have one. There are
cattle to be supervised, and chores to be done. The Naumkib must give over all their waking hours to
surviving. I have no time to devote to the profession of wandering teacher. You need to find another.
You are the first of your people to visit Tethspraih. The monk seated at the other end of the table was
speaking forcefully. As such, you must be the one to carry our teachings to your land. It is a great
honor.
Yes, added the middle savant. Besides, you have no choice. You do not have to waste time and
energy arguing about it because the decision has been made for you. He smiled encouragingly,
reassuringly. That is the job of savants. To make the right choices for others. We prevent many
headaches before they happen.
Then why are you giving me one now? Simna ibn Sind had listened to just about enough. Avoiding
Ehomba s attempt to restrain him, the swordsman took a bold step forward and drew his blade. Sensing
his thoughts, the pair of cockatells stopped eating and fell back to the far side of their cage. They
remained huddled together there, their shimmering golden feathers quivering slightly as they were forced
to listen to and absorb the blast of unfettered aggression from the swordsman s mind.
Showing that they were indeed human, the savants reacted to Simna s provocation by losing their
seemingly everlasting smiles. But no one leaped from their chair or tried to flee. Nor did anyone raise a
warning cry to the servitors stationed outside.
Instead, the monk in the center reached quickly beneath the table and brought out a most
curious-looking device. The length of a man s arm, it had a handle and a long tubular body that was
fluted and flared at the end like an open flower. One finger curled around a small curve of metal set into
the underside of the apparatus. Attached to the top was a small bottle or canister. This was fashioned of
an opaque substance and Ehomba could not see what it contained.
Resting the wooden handle against his shoulder, the savant pointed the flowerlike end of the device
directly at Simna. Exposed blade hanging at his side, the swordsman s gaze narrowed as he stared down
the barrel of the awkward contrivance. Not knowing what it did, he was unsure how to deal with the
threat its wielder s posture implicitly implied.
Simna, the herdsman told his friend warningly, that s enough! Stay where you are!
The monk at the far end of the table spoke somberly. It does not matter. Advance or retreat, the end
will be the same. His smile returned, though in muted form. And you will be the better for it.
The better for it? Simna glared furiously at the man, utterly frustrated by the unshakable composure of
the smugly complacent trio seated behind the table. I ll be the better forthis ! Raising the shining blade
over his head, he took another step forward. Ehomba shouted a warning and Ahlitah crouched, instantly
alert.
The monk aiming the device did not hesitate as he pulled the trigger and fired.
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XI
The litah snarled warningly but held his ground. Ehomba instinctively drew back. As for Simna, he
ducked sharply, frowned, and then straightened anew. To all outward appearances he was entirely
unharmed.
The cloud of powder that puffed from the muzzle of the strange device was primarily pink with deeper
overtones of cerise. It enveloped the swordsman for the briefest of moments before dissipating in the still
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