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“Perhaps she has more than neighborhood in common with Earthmen.”

The room was suddenly very quiet again.

“She does sometimes go to sleep at concerts,” Clarey conceded.

Irik opened his mouth. Malesor held up a hand. “Before you say anything more against the Earthmen, Irik,” he advised, “you oughta find out more about them. Their cars move faster and higher than ours. Maybe their catapults do, too.”

No one looked at Clarey. Malesor had averted a showdown, he knew, but this was the beginning of the end. And he had a suspicion who was responsible—innocently perhaps, perhaps not. Love does not always imply trust. And when he told Embelsira what had happened in the Furbush, she, too, couldn’t meet his eye. “That Irik,” she said, “I never liked him.”

“I wonder how he knows so much about me.”

“Rini writes him very often,” she babbled. “He must have told him you were responsible for the new music. That would make him hate you. Rini likes to irritate Irik, because he’s always been jealous of him. But the whole thing’s silly. How could you possibly make over the world’s music, even if you were—” Her voice ran down.