Burning Tower by Larry Niven Page A

mother.”
    â€œI see. What about you?” Tower asked.
    Roni named a handful of eligible males. Lady Shanda and Lord Qirama discussed their merits, to Roni’s annoyance, until Sandry praised one man’s behavior during the Pizzles’ attack. An animated discussion of firefighting ensued.
    Tea arrived, with a pyramid of honey cakes.
    An apprentice whispered to Egmatel. Egmatel said, “Wale is right. The manna is drifting back to Lordshills, one way and another. We know little of Coyote here, but—he could not come while the fire god was in place, but might he visit us now?”
    Twisted Cloud smiled. “He is here if he wants to be, Sage.”
    Burning Tower caught Egmatel’s sneer, instantly hidden. The man didn’t believe in Coyote, or perhaps in Twisted Cloud.
    And he must have seen something in Tower’s face and Green Stone’s. He said, “Spells involving Zoosh protect me from interference from other gods. I’ve wondered sometimes what that has cost me. A god may not consider the welfare of the human being he rides—”
    â€œBut he leaves knowledge behind,” Twisted Cloud affirmed. “Whandall Feathersnake carried Coyote the night we conceived Clever Squirrel. He brushed cheeks with death that night, but Whandall can tell tales and lore known only to Coyote.”
    For an instant, Egmatel gaped like a boy seeing his first bull roarer. Then his eyes lowered and he was himself again.
    The guests and hosts sipped Green Stone’s tea and praised the flavor. Sandry held his peace while several chose honey cakes and brushed off the ants to eat them. Then he said, “Aunt Shanda, why don’t we get rid of these ants?”
    Shanda, Quintana, Egmatel and both apprentices, and two servants gaped at Sandry. Sandry smiled, but he caught Green Stone’s glare.
    So did Twisted Cloud. “We’re guests, Wagonmaster,” she said reprovingly, “and this is common enough. No great proprietary secret.”
    Lady Shanda was holding her peace with some difficulty. Egmatel…what was he thinking? Tower couldn’t tell.
    Lord Quintana asked, “You can get rid of ants?”
    The shaman said, “Not rid. Can you find me a sheet of parchment? And pass the honey.”
    â€œI’ll get parchment,” Roni said. She stood with conscious grace.
    They awaited her return. Then Twisted Cloud mixed honey with crushed charcoal and wrote in tiny letters, extensively. She painted honey around all four edges of the parchment and set it on the hearth, next to the honey cakes and squarely in the path of the ants.
    Sandry held any ridicule out of his voice, but Burning Tower sensed his disbelief. “You’re making them a gift?”
    â€œFor the queen ant, and sending her a message. Your ants, they’ve been deaf and mute for too many years, while Yangin-Atep was consuming every trace of local magic. They need reminding.”
    Roni laughed, “So do we!”
    Twisted Cloud looked at her doubtfully, then at the Sage Egmatel, who was holding a perfect poker face. “Well. The god was Logi or Zoosh or Ghuju, depends on who’s speaking. His tribe didn’t like to clean up after themselves. Men tired of the women’s complaints, and leftover bones got too much attention from coyotes and other predators. Logi made a tiny creature to clean up after them, to carry garbage away. But ants are supposed to stay out of sight, and they’re not supposed to swarm over food that’s ready for the evening meal!”
    Roni said, “So you send a message. And what if they don’t take the hint?”
    â€œI send a stronger message,” the older woman said grimly.
    Sandry asked, “Will you write me another of these ant-messages? For my mother?”
    The ants were all over the message, but of course they were still on the food too. The caravaners brushed them off as Sandry did, but those who weren’t annoyed