Ofelia pondered all the faults in that assumption as Kira led the way into the left-hand workroom. Why should they hurt an old woman who had never threatened them, once they found out she wouldn’t? And why would they not hurt those who did pose a threat? But she was not going to argue. She didn’t know how in the first place, and in the second place her head hurt too much.
Bluecloak said something to the other creatures, and one of them walked away quickly toward the kitchen.
“Did you notice,” Kira said to the stocky man, “they don’t walk flat-footed all the time? I’d love to see the bone structure—”
The stocky man nodded, then narrowed his eyes at Ofelia. “You’re not feeling well, are you, Sera Falfurrias? Perhaps you need to lie down for awhile?”
Nothing she would like better, but not while these people were poking around. Might as well leave a roomful of toddlers to play in the kitchen with no one watching. “I’m all right,” she said, but she sat in the chair he placed for her. Then the creature came back with a bowl of crushed ice—when had they learned to use the ice-crusher?—and folded a towel around a handful of ice as deftly as any nurse. It put the ice on the bruise; she sucked in air, but it did help after a moment. She put up her hand to hold the ice in place, but there was no need. The creature stood behind her, holding it.
“Well,” said the tall man. She struggled to remember his name. Vasil Likisi. “It’s clear
“Ahhnt,” Bluecloak said. They all stared at it. It pointed at Ofelia. “Ahhnt.”
“Aunt?” That was the young woman, Bilong. “You mean like . . . aunt? Mother’s sister?”
Bluecloak took the book that another of the creatures had brought it from the schoolroom, the storybook about the girl who stayed with her aunt. It showed the book to Bilong. “Ahhnt.”
It fumbled through the pages until it found the picture it wanted, then pointed to Ofelia, and the picture of the girl and her aunt.
“It can’t possibly understand,” Kira said impatiently. “A storybook? Whatever it means by aunt, that’s not what we mean by aunt.” She glanced at Ofelia. “Do you know what it’s talking about?”
She did, but how could she explain it to this woman, who was in her way as alien as Bluecloak? This woman so impatient she was already fidgeting, already unwilling to listen to more than a word or two? No. Her head hurt too much. Courtesy demanded some answer, but not a complete one.
“I took care of some children other than mine,” she said. “I think that’s what Bluecloak means.”
“Oh.” The other woman sat back, looking unconvinced.
“How did you tell it that?” asked the younger woman.
Her head was pounding. Ofelia shifted, and other bruises stabbed her. “I—used gestures,” she said. “And I’m really very tired now.” She closed her eyes.
“Do you suppose she’s really hurt?” asked the tall man. When she didn’t have to listen to him, his voice still sounded tall and self-important, as if he had a lime in his mouth. He was ready to be annoyed with her for being hurt.
“I hope not,” said the other man. “She’s our best source for understanding this alien culture; she’s been living with the indigenes—”
“But she’s so—” Ofelia presumed a gesture went with that, and probably a sideways glance to see if she was really asleep or just pretending. “She hasn’t the background,” the tall man said finally. Playing it safe.
“Vasil, you are the most—!” But that was cut off. Ofelia heard the stealthy sound of people rising from chairs and trying to walk off quietly. Let them. She didn’t care. She dozed off, and when she woke found that someone had put a row of chairs under her legs, and padded them with a blanket. Her head still hurt, but not so badly.
Bluecloak stood beside her. “Ghouls,” it said. Her mind wavered. Ghouls? Then she made the transformation: it meant “fools.” And she didn’t have to ask who it meant. It meant the other humans.
Ofelia made no attempt to get up; she didn’t want to move. But she winked at Bluecloak. “They are fools,” she agreed. And ghouls too, she thought privately.
“Uhoo nnot—” Bluecloak gestured away, meaning those others she was sure. “Nnot—click-kaw-keerrr?”
“Not,” she said again, reassuring it. “They’re not my people, and I’m not their click-kaw-keerrr, not their aunt.”
Bluecloak offered an arm, and she managed to sit up, biting off a groan at the pain in her side and leg. Another of the creatures moved to her other side, and the two of them helped her along the passage. Outside, it was dark, with stars glowing softly in the warm damp wind.
