Orb stood at the wake, feeling cold. Blenda, Luna's mother, was dead, and there was nothing she could
do about it. Technically Blenda had been Orb's half sister, for both of them were the daughters of
Pacian, but she had been easier to think of as an aunt. Blenda had been the most beautiful woman of her
generation, but she had aged rapidly in the past few years. Whatever researches the Magician had been
doing had taken the life-strength from both himself and his wife; now she was dead, and he was old. It
was hard to believe that he was Niobe's son!
Orb and Luna were seventeen, going on eighteen, supposedly at the prime of maidenhood. It was said by
others that they were beautiful, though not as much as their mothers had been. That was hard to
appreciate in this hour of bereavement. What was the point of beauty, when a person still had to age and
die?
Abruptly the Magician crossed to Orb. "We must have music for the wake," he said.
Orb quailed. "Oh, I couldn't-" For though she had never been truly close to Luna's mother-and Luna
herself had not been as close as both of them were to Niobe-the grief of this termination was on her.
"She liked your music," the Magician said. "She will not hear it hereafter."

Orb glanced wildly about, seeking some escape from this duty, and caught Niobe's gaze. Niobe nodded.
Orb would have to do it.
She fetched her harp. She had been given this when she was twelve; it was from the Hall of the
Mountain King. It was magic, and it amplified her talent enormously. Her father's music embraced the
listener when he touched; hers extended beyond touch. She had not realized that Blenda was even aware
of it.
She played on the instrument, then sang. She had intended a sad song, but it came out happy, to her
dismay; it seemed that something other than her own will was guiding her. In the old days, she
understood, wakes had been happy affairs, all-night parties, but now they were more somber, and
certainly she did not feel festive. But she found herself singing a song of light and joy, and the Magician
was smiling, and somehow, amazingly, it seemed right.
Then Luna painted a picture of her mother, in her youthful beauty, and it was the loveliest of portraits.
This would go with Blenda, in such manner as it could. She would travel to Heaven with treasured
things.
After the wake and burial were done, things did not return to normal. The Magician decided to move to
America, and of course Luna would go with him. This hardly cheered Orb; Luna had been her closest
companion all her life. But what was to be, was to be. The two girls had a tearful parting, and then Luna
and her father were gone. Oh, they had promised to keep in touch, and to visit back and forth, but Orb
still felt bereft.
There did not seem to be much point in staying home, now. Orb's father Pacian was over seventy and
was slowing down; she rather feared that he would be next and she hardly cared to witness that. So she
approached Niobe about the possibility of traveling, apprehensive about her mother's response, but to
her surprise it was positive. "By all means, dear," Niobe said. "It is important for a girl to get some
experience of the world, before she has to settle down. Just be careful."
Now perversely. Orb had a second thought. "But you, Mother-can you manage without me? I mean-"
Niobe hugged her. "I love you Orb, but I can manage. Here, the Magician left something for you."
It turned out to be a carpet: a beautiful small silken one that nevertheless supported her weight lightly
enough. "Oh, it's absolutely lovely!" Orb breathed ecstatically. "But that means-"
"That he knew you would be going," Niobe finished. "He cares for you. Orb, as he does for Luna; he
just doesn't show it often. He told me where to take the two of you to obtain your instruments. I think his
neglect as a baby caused him to lose facility for the expression of love, but he feels it."
Orb did not comment. Niobe was the Magician's mother; if she had neglected him, she must have had
good reason. "I will use it to visit him and Luna!" she exclaimed.
"You will not!" Niobe snapped. "This is not intercontinental tapestry! You would perish in some storm
far from land. No, this is strictly a local transport, close to ground. You'll have to take a scientific
airplane to cross the ocean. But you don't need to visit them so soon anyway; go about your business and
see what you can find."
Orb nodded. She had never spoken to her mother of her longing for the Llano, but evidently Niobe
knew. So she flung her arms about the older woman and just hugged her, and that was enough.
But Niobe was not done. She had a gift of her own: a cloak that would garb Orb in whatever manner she
required, so that she would not need to tote a suitcase of clothing. "Return when you are ready, dear, and
I will be here." Perhaps significantly, she did not mention Pacian.
Orb hugged her again and shed another tear. Then she packed some food and her little harp, took a good
map of Eire, and settled herself on the carpet. It lifted with her thought, being one of the refined modern
ones that responded only to the owner and needed no spoken commands.

She hovered for a moment, blowing a kiss to her mother. Then she was off, sailing up to treetop level,
the wind taking her cloak but not threatening her. She was on her way.
She was looking for the Raggle-Taggle Gypsies that she had met as a child. They had told her what they
knew of her real objective, the Llano, but perhaps they could now tell her where to look for it.
First she went to the swamp where the old water-oak stood, to consult with the hamadryad. She and
Luna had visited often in the summers when they were young, but seldom in the later years.
Nevertheless the dryad welcomed her immediately, even coming down from the tree to hug her as she
got off the carpet.
"But I'm adult now," Orb protested, pleased. "How can you approach me?"
"You are still an innocent," the dryad said. "Besides, I know you. There is no music like yours."
Orb elected to ignore the slight about her experience, for the dryad had been a precious friend. "What I
really want is to find that song, the Llano," she confessed. "So I'm looking for those Gypsies, because
perhaps they can tell me where to look."
The hamadryad frowned, not liking the Gypsies who had threatened to chop down her tree. A threat of
that nature was never forgiven by her kind. But she recognized Orb's need, so she helped. "We have
watched that tribe, my sisters and I. It is now south, in Cork."
Orb thanked her and resumed her journey, after a parting almost as poignant as the one with Niobe. The
flight was long, and night was coming, so she ate sparingly from her stores, then lay down on the carpet
and slept while it continued its travel. Her cloak kept her warm, and she knew no one would bother a
solitary flying carpet; they were, after all, common enough. This really solved the problem of nights, for
she was as safe here as she could be anywhere at least when there was no storm.
In the morning she found herself hovering over one of the enchanted forests of Cork: the trees that
magic enabled this county to grow for their marvelous bark, providing employment and income for
many residents. She circled until she spied a park that had good water and facilities; then she landed and
refreshed herself. Her food was running low; she had money and would have to buy more soon, but right
now she was too eager to locate the Gypsies.
Back aloft, she searched for signs of their presence and soon spied a motley collection of tents. As she
approached she saw the women with their pots, and the men with their horses and cattle, and the
children playing, all of them wearing bright bits of color. These were they!
She landed, rolled up her rug, and fitted it into her knapsack along with her harp. The combined load
was fairly heavy, but she didn't want to leave anything of value untended in this vicinity. Her prior
experience with the Gypsies had taught her this caution.
As she wafted up, the Gypsy children flocked to her. "You want nice cloth?" one cried. "My mother has
the best!"
"You want fortune told?" another inquired. "My big sister knows all!"
Then a Gypsy man strode toward her. His hair was midnight black and his eyes the same, making his
dark skin seem light in comparison. With a wave of his arm he scattered the children. "Welcome,
beautiful woman!" he exclaimed. "Come let me show you the wonders of perfect love!"
"Just take me to your leader," Orb said, somewhat daunted by this approach.
"I am the leader," he proclaimed, putting his arm around her. Because the knapsack was high on her
back, his hand fell low. He squeezed.
Orb leaped and whirled on him, her face flaming, and perhaps her bottom, too. "How dare you?" she
demanded.
The man laughed. "A woman of spirit!" he said. "What a joy to bed you!" His dark gaze seemed to
transfix her, and somehow it seemed that the decision about her action had already been made.
Orb put her left hand on the amulet hanging at her neck, drawing power from it. She knew the Gypsy
couldn't hurt her. Not physically. But his lewd words and behavior appalled her. She just wanted to get
away from him and get about her business.
The man, pressing what he perceived to be his advantage, reached for her again. But this time the power
of the amulet manifested, and as his hand touched her, his volition drained away. These amulets had
protected Luna and Orb throughout, the only exception being when they had invaded the Hall of the
Mountain King, whose power was supreme within his own demesnes. But she had no onus against the
Mountain King; he was a good man, if man he was, and his magic harp had vastly enhanced her life.
Why hadn't the amulet protected her from the man's familiarity before? Because she hadn't known it was
coming, and he hadn't known it would offend her. Now she did know, and so did he, and the protective
magic was operating. A matter of interpretation, perhaps, but it made all the difference.
Now that she had him helpless, she had a better idea. "You're not the leader, are you?" she said.
"No," he agreed. "I just told you that so you would like me."
"Perhaps you can help me anyway," she continued. "I am looking for the Llano. What can you tell me?"
"The Llano!" he exclaimed, and his hand fell away from her. At that point he recovered his volition.
"What did you do to me, woman?"
"I overwhelmed you with my personality," she said sweetly. "Are you going to answer my question?"
He whistled. "Lady, I think I had better! But all I can tell you is that we don't know where to find the
Llano. I don't think any of us can, here. I think you would have to ask at the source of the Gypsies."
"And where is that?"
He looked embarrassed. "We don't know that either. We think we came up out of Egypt, through Spain;
that is how we derive our name, E-Gypt-sy. But that may be just a story."
Orb considered. It struck her as an excellent story. "Why then I suppose I'll just have to go to Spain and
inquire there," she said.
The Gypsy fidgeted. "That may not be wise."
"Why not?"
"Look, lady-you can't just walk into a Gypsy camp and start asking questions. You'll wind up in
somebody's tent, and-" He paused, evidently remembering her power of resistance. "Well, maybe not.
But the Gypsies of Spain are more-well, they wouldn't let you get off as easily as I am, and your magic
may not protect you there. We're just a primitive band, but there they know more of the old lore. You
would run a risk."
His words had the ring of sincerity. Orb leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "I thank you. I shall take
care." She turned away.
"Wait, lady!" he protested.
She turned back. "Haven't you had enough of me?"
"I think I will never have enough of you, lady! But I recognize your power. Please, a boon-the others
have seen me talking to you, and if you just go away they will know I failed with you. If you would stay
a little longer, let me show you around, be your guide, they would think-"
"Why should I care what they think?" she snapped. "You tried to-to handle me!"
"I know, and I apologize. But this is the way of a man with a beautiful woman-the Gypsy way. I would
have been the shame of my tribe if I didn't try! And now-my reputation-"
Orb tried to remain objective, but the repeated compliments about her appearance were getting to her.
Perhaps the Gypsy had a case. Her temper, quick to fray, was also quick to mend. "I have no intention
of-"
"I understand!" he said quickly. "Obviously a woman of your quality has no interest in riffraff like me!
But if you could just appear to be-I would be so grateful, and if there is any favor I could do in return-"
He wanted to avoid being shamed before his folk. She could appreciate that. She melted, some. "Well, I
do need to obtain some food, to travel with-"
"Yes, yes!" he agreed avidly. "I will guide you to the best we have! The best prices, no cheating! If only-
" he made a partial gesture with his arm.
Orb decided that she was in command of the situation, and the man might indeed be useful. "Yes, you
may touch me but no squeezing. And nothing more-there is nothing beyond this."
"Yes! But there will seem to be more."
She nodded. The Gypsy put his arm about her waist, below the knapsack, and he did not even touch her
rear, let alone squeeze. The other Gypsies glanced and nodded appreciatively; the man was scoring
again.
In due course Orb resumed her journey, stocked with excellent food. The man had been as good as his
word and had indeed been useful. He had asked only that he be allowed to walk her through the forest,
out of sight of the others, so that they would draw their conclusions. She did, and the Gypsies surely did,
and that was all. "But if you ever do want a man for other purposes-" he said at the end.
"I will know where to find you," she agreed. Indeed, he seemed not a bad sort, once reined, and she had
learned or relearned-that the word of a Gypsy, once honestly given, was good.
Still, as she left him, Orb suffered a tinge of regret, not for anything that might have passed between
them, but because she felt she had lost a portion of her innocence.
Orb took an airplane to Spain, heeding her mother's advice. Indeed, as she looked out the window and
saw the mass of clouds below, she realized that it would have been foolish for her to attempt this trip on
her carpet. Any trifling storm could have dumped her, and even the fog of harmless clouds could have
caused her to get lost. Magic was grand, but science had its place, too; they were complementary
mechanisms of accomplishment.
The plane landed at Granada. Orb made discreet inquiries and learned that the Gypsy quarter was the
Albaicin, on the hill facing the Alhambra. This was in the larger region of Andalusia, familiar to her by
reputation because Luna's father had imported special stones from here for his enchantments, called
anadalusite. They changed color with the light, being green at times and orange at other times-and more
than that, after enchantment. Thus she was glad to make the acquaintance of this country, on whatever
pretext.
"But don't go there alone," the travel agent warned her. "A tourist can get into trouble. Hire a guide who
knows the language."
"The language?"
"The Gypsies speak their own language among themselves. They will cheat you, or worse, if you go
alone."
She thanked him. Then she went to a private place, changed the aspect of her cloak to male apparel,
bound up her hair, and rubbed a little dirt into her cheeks and chin to simulate the first shadow of a
beard. She intended to avoid the peril of being a lone woman by passing for a man. She unrolled her
"I know, and I apologize. But this is the way of a man with a beautiful woman-the Gypsy way. I would
have been the shame of my tribe if I didn't try! And now-my reputation-"
Orb tried to remain objective, but the repeated compliments about her appearance were getting to her.
Perhaps the Gypsy had a case. Her temper, quick to fray, was also quick to mend. "I have no intention
of-"
"I understand!" he said quickly. "Obviously a woman of your quality has no interest in riffraff like me!
But if you could just appear to be-I would be so grateful, and if there is any favor I could do in return-"
He wanted to avoid being shamed before his folk. She could appreciate that. She melted, some. "Well, I
do need to obtain some food, to travel with-"
"Yes, yes!" he agreed avidly. "I will guide you to the best we have! The best prices, no cheating! If only-
" he made a partial gesture with his arm.
Orb decided that she was in command of the situation, and the man might indeed be useful. "Yes, you
may touch me but no squeezing. And nothing more-there is nothing beyond this."
"Yes! But there will seem to be more."
She nodded. The Gypsy put his arm about her waist, below the knapsack, and he did not even touch her
rear, let alone squeeze. The other Gypsies glanced and nodded appreciatively; the man was scoring
again.
In due course Orb resumed her journey, stocked with excellent food. The man had been as good as his
word and had indeed been useful. He had asked only that he be allowed to walk her through the forest,
out of sight of the others, so that they would draw their conclusions. She did, and the Gypsies surely did,
and that was all. "But if you ever do want a man for other purposes-" he said at the end.
"I will know where to find you," she agreed. Indeed, he seemed not a bad sort, once reined, and she had
learned or relearned-that the word of a Gypsy, once honestly given, was good.
Still, as she left him, Orb suffered a tinge of regret, not for anything that might have passed between
them, but because she felt she had lost a portion of her innocence.
Orb took an airplane to Spain, heeding her mother's advice. Indeed, as she looked out the window and
saw the mass of clouds below, she realized that it would have been foolish for her to attempt this trip on
her carpet. Any trifling storm could have dumped her, and even the fog of harmless clouds could have
caused her to get lost. Magic was grand, but science had its place, too; they were complementary
mechanisms of accomplishment.
The plane landed at Granada. Orb made discreet inquiries and learned that the Gypsy quarter was the
Albaicin, on the hill facing the Alhambra. This was in the larger region of Andalusia, familiar to her by
reputation because Luna's father had imported special stones from here for his enchantments, called
anadalusite. They changed color with the light, being green at times and orange at other times-and more
than that, after enchantment. Thus she was glad to make the acquaintance of this country, on whatever
pretext.
"But don't go there alone," the travel agent warned her. "A tourist can get into trouble. Hire a guide who
knows the language."
"The language?"
"The Gypsies speak their own language among themselves. They will cheat you, or worse, if you go
alone."
She thanked him. Then she went to a private place, changed the aspect of her cloak to male apparel,
bound up her hair, and rubbed a little dirt into her cheeks and chin to simulate the first shadow of a
beard. She intended to avoid the peril of being a lone woman by passing for a man. She unrolled her
This was Basque country. The Pyrenees marched to the water of the Bay of Biscay, and the Basques
were on either side of the border between Spain and France, speaking their own language. Orb made no
progress here, speaking none of the three tongues. She knew the Gypsies were here, but they were
hidden from her, keeping their nature secret.
She refused to give up. She rented a room in a village house and went out daily to talk with the people,
asking about the Gypsies. No one professed to know anything about them.
Finally she became desperate. She went to the center of the village square, brought out her harp, and
began to play. In a moment people appeared, listening, as she had known they would. No true Gypsy
could remain aloof from magic music, and hers was special. Soon virtually all the village was present,
the folk standing in a great circle around her.
She stopped, put away her harp, and walked though the crowd, back to her room.
It was not long before there was a knock on her door. Orb answered, hoping that her ploy had been
successful.
A dark urchin stood there, dressed in bright rags. "Nicolai bids you come," the child said.
This smelled like victory. Orb did not question the message; she wrapped her cloak about her and
stepped out.
"With your music," the child added.
Orb smiled. She fetched her harp, then accompanied the child out and down the street, to a hidden hovel
fashioned from refuse. She was appalled to think that anyone should live in a place like this, but so it
was.
Inside was an old man. She knew immediately that he was a Gypsy; his whole appearance and manner
spoke of it. He sat on a decrepit wooden chair and held an ancient fiddle.
The man stared at her for a long moment. At last he spoke. "Teach my child your music," he said.
Startled, Orb glanced around for the urchin, but the urchin was gone. "I can not do that," she protested.
"I only want to know-"
Nicolai stilled her with an impatient gesture. "Tinka!" he called.
A buxom young woman appeared, her dark hair bound under a colorful kerchief. This was evidently his
daughter.
But there was something odd about the way Tinka looked about. Her gaze was random, her eyes not
focusing. Orb realized that the girl was blind.
Nicolai lifted his fiddle and played. The hut seemed suddenly to come alive, animated by his evocative
music. It was as if the walls became transparent, and the world outside was tinged with gold. The
instrument sang of wonders barely beyond vision.
Abruptly he stopped. "But Tinka-see," he said. He reached out and took his daughter's left hand and
brought it up. She looked away, but did not resist.
Orb gasped. The hand was shorn of the ends of all its fingers. Only the first joints after the knuckles
remained, and the thumb. The girl had suffered some terrible accident in childhood.
"She cannot play," the man said gruffly. "She cannot dance." He glanced down at the girl's feet, and Orb
saw that they were twisted. "Fifteen, and unmarried, and no children. Yet she is comely. Teach her your
music."
"But-" Orb did not know how to get hold of this situation. "I-what I do, it can't be taught-"
"Take her hand," Nicolai said.
Fighting against her own repulsion, Orb reached out and took Tinka's mutilated hand. As she touched it,
she heard a faint sound, as of a distant orchestra.
Tinka had the magic!
"I can't teach her," Nicolai said. "My music is all in my fiddle. But you can."
Sorrow, sympathy, and surmise played through Orb's emotion. "Perhaps I can," she agreed.
"Take her," he said.
Numbed by this prospect. Orb obeyed. She led the girl by the hand from the hut, and out to the street.
People were all around, but they went about their business with studied unconcern. No one seemed to
look directly at Orb as she led Tinka to her apartment, yet all were aware.
Orb had sought the Llano. Instead she had found a student. Somehow she knew that this was her rite of
passage. If she taught the girl, the Gypsies would cooperate.
Tinka was shy, volunteering nothing, merely shrugging when Orb questioned her. Her clothing was
ragged, her shoes falling apart. Orb realized that it would be pointless to try to teach her anything in her
present state. First she had to win the girl's confidence, and before that she had to get her presentable.
"Come on, Tinka," she said briskly. "We're going shopping."
The girl stared blankly past her.
"For clothing, shoes, whatever," Orb said. "You're a pretty girl, if-"
Tinka continued to look blank. Orb suddenly realized that she had not heard the girl speak. Was she
dumb as well? No, for she had answered to her father's call, and a person who could hear, could speak.
If she wanted to.
All in good time, she decided. Surely the girl could sing, or her father would not have sought Orb's
instruction for her.
Yet why was she so unresponsive? "You do understand me, don't you?" Orb asked.
Tinka shrugged. Now it was evident that she did not. She had responded only to the inflection of
questioning.
Orb sighed. "Well, come anyway," she said. She took the girl's hand and led her out. Tinka followed
docilely.
They went to a store that sold clothing. "I want this girl properly dressed," Orb told the proprietor.
Because this store catered to the tourist trade, English was understood here. "Dress, shoes-and gloves, I
think. With-you'll have to do something for the fingers. But not like a tourist-like a proper village girl, a
pretty one. You'll have to choose the colors; she can't see. Can you handle it?"
The man brought out his fat wife. They spoke in what Orb assumed was Basque. The wife took Tinka
away. Orb began haggling about payment; she was learning how to manage, here. She had enough
money to cover any reasonable contingency, but those who spent too freely were not held in high
esteem. Even so, the storekeeper was asking too much; Orb's bargaining became serious.
It took some time, but when the wife brought Tinka back she was stunning. She was clean, and her hair
had been brushed out and fastened back with nylon combs, and she wore a bright print dress, white
blouse, flowery shawl, and slippers that made her feet look almost normal. Sturdy gloves on her hands
masked the missing fingers. She was, indeed, a pretty girl.
The wife stood Tinka before the mirror. Orb thought that was a mistake, but it wasn't; the woman was
verifying the hang of the dress, making final adjustments.
"Lovely!" the storekeeper exclaimed, and his voice rang with a sincerity not entirely inspired by the
money he had made on this transaction.
Tinka heard. For the first time she spoke-but her words were unintelligible to Orb.
"What language is that?" Orb asked quietly.
"Calo," the storekeeper said. "She's a Gypsy wench. I thought you knew."
"But I don't know Calo!"
"Why would you want to? Teach her English."
Orb took the girl back to her apartment. Again the villagers affected not to notice, but Orb knew they
were watching more closely than before. Apparel could make a significant change in the appearance of
any woman, but Tinka's transformation was remarkable. The girl even held her chin higher and walked
with more confidence, as if conscious of the impression she was making.
Orb fixed something for them both to eat, not certain whether Tinka was conversant with civilized food,
but the girl had no trouble.
At last Orb tackled the problem of teaching. "Can you sing?" she asked, and when the girl did not react,
Orb brought out her harp and sang a brief song.
Tinka smiled. In a moment she was humming along, picking up the melody immediately. Her pitch was
perfect, her voice good. She could sing, certainly.
But that was not what Nicolai wanted from Orb. He wanted the magic.
Orb put her hand on Tinka's arm. Then she sang, using the magic. She knew that the girl heard the sound
of the hidden orchestra.
Indeed she did. She spoke a veritable torrent in the Gypsy language. She wanted to learn this.
"But I can't understand your words," Orb said. "It would really be better if we understood each other."
Tinka, having heard the magic, was eager to cooperate. She was not a stupid girl, and soon she was
meeting Orb more than half way. She pointed to herself and said her name, then touched her new dress
and said a word for it, and a shoe with its word. She was telling Orb her language.
Orb considered only briefly. It occurred to her that if she wanted to get real information from the
Gypsies, it would help to speak their language. It should be as easy to learn Calo as to teach Tinka
English.
There was a great deal more to it, but that was the point of decision. Orb proceeded to learn the Gypsy
language, and Tinka learned to invoke the magic orchestra. They went at both projects with almost total
immersion, so that in a day Orb knew a few basic words and some of the syntax, and Tinka had
succeeded in making the orchestra respond in a minor way. In a week they were communicating freely
with each other on both the verbal and musical levels, though with far to go on each.
Orb discovered that the Gypsy language had no words for what in her own were rendered as "duty" and
"possession." This was because these concepts were foreign to the Gypsy nature. Gypsies felt something
like duty only in the manner they honored their own culture, and they owned only what they wore and
used. They had no vested property, no estates, no mortgages; they acceded to such things only in
deference to the demands of the other cultures with which they interacted.
This explained a lot. Others might call the Gypsies thieves-but how could there be theft, when there was
no ownership? Others thought them shiftless-but that only meant that the Gypsies felt no need to do
anything other than survive. To hold a regular job, to serve in a nation's armed forces-this sort of thing
simply did not relate to the Gypsy nature. The bad qualities the Gypsies were judged to have were
mostly the misunderstandings of outsiders. Gypsies did have values, and these, when understood, did
honor to them. Music, joy, sharing, love, loyalty to one's own the Gypsies were like one huge, scattered
family, and Orb related to that. She had always wanted to belong-to something.
Tinka stayed with Orb, at Orb's expense. It was obvious that the Gypsies had no money; this was the
only way it could be done. Orb didn't mind; she had never dreamed she would be in such a situation, but
she felt really fulfilled when she worked with the Gypsy girl, making steady progress. The quest for the
Llano could wait long enough for this.
One day the urchin showed up again. "Nicolai says come to the dance."
"Dance?" Orb asked blankly.
But Tinka came alive. "We must go," she said in Calo. "I know where."
Satisfied with that, the urchin departed. Now Tinka became the instructor, getting Orb properly dressed
for the occasion. This was a special challenge, as Orb had no wardrobe of her own, only the magic
cloak. The girl had to describe the necessary costume, and Orb asked questions about detail, and finally
they got it right. Orb now looked very much like a Gypsy woman, and the mirror told her that this guise
became her.
They went out, as evening closed. Tinka led the way, but was guided by Orb's cautions about steps,
buildings, and traffic.
Hundreds of people were gathered at the central village square, dancing in pairs, snapping their fingers
with marvelous precision. The beat was so accurate that Orb suspected that some of her own magic ran
in the blood of the Gypsies-for indeed, these were Gypsies, revealing themselves to her at last. She
realized that Tinka was her pass; she had come with the blind girl, and the girl was obviously in good
health and spirits. Perhaps Nicolai had spread the word-or perhaps it had been enough just to be seen
with Tinka, on those prior days. Certainly it was no liability to be seen with Tinka now; the girl was
radiant, a stunning beauty.
Soon a young man came for Tinka. Orb didn't know whether the girl could dance, but let her be her own
judge of that. It turned out that she could, and quite well, when guided by a competent partner.
Orb, gazing about the throng, caught the eye of Nicolai. He was playing his fiddle along with other
Gypsies, and their music was lively and wonderful, but he was evidently not totally taken up by it. When
he had Orb's attention, he nodded, slowly. Then she knew how pleased he was to see his daughter
dancing. Tinka had the skill, but she had probably not been much in demand, before. Tonight she
glowed, and in the dance it was hard to tell that she was blind.
A young man came to ask Orb herself to dance, but she demurred. "I really don't know this kind of
dance," she explained. "I would rather just watch."
He left, not pushing it. But soon another came, and she turned him down, too, as politely as she could.
She just didn't want to get in over her head.
Then old Nicolai came, handsome even in his age in his worn but elegant dress-up clothing. "If you
would be a Gypsy, you must learn the Gypsy ways," he said, and held out his hand to her.
Orb could not refuse. She could tell by the reactions of the others that this was a signal honor. So she
danced with him, and Nicolai was a veteran dancer and made it easy for her, though she did not know
the nuances of this one.
"Tonight there is only one more lovely than my child," the old man murmured. Orb smiled; it seemed to
her that none of the other women present looked better than Tinka, but she was not going to debate the
matter.
Before long they stopped, and Nicolai returned to his playing. Tinka returned, breathless with constant
dancing; her feet really were not up to it, and she had to rest. "They say my father danced with you," she
said in Calo. "He has not danced in years, not in public. Only when he taught me."
"I know he is pleased with you," Orb said.
"He is pleased with you!" Tinka said. "Because you have helped me. He has given you the mark of
favor."
"You have helped me, too," Orb said warmly. "You are teaching me your language."
The girl found her hand and squeezed it joyously.
"He mentioned that there was one here more lovely than you, but I did not see her," Orb said, curious.
Tinka turned her face to Orb, astonished. She laughed.
"I don't understand," Orb said, nettled.
"Since my mother died, no one has ever been lovelier than me, in my father's eyes," Tinka said. "Until
now. He meant you."
Orb found herself blushing. She had missed the import entirely!
Then the pattern of the dancing changed. The music was similar, but the motions and style were
completely different. Man and woman glanced sidelong at each other, and their bodies assumed
provocative postures. The erotic suggestion was infinite; it was as if they were indulging in a prolonged
sexual act in public. Orb felt her face flushing for a new reason.
"That dance," she whispered. "What is it?"
Tinka of course could not see it, but she knew. "It is the tanana," she said. "Few outsiders are allowed to
see it."
Orb watched, fascinated despite her revulsion. She had never been exposed to such raw invitation, yet it
had beauty, too. The man desired the woman, as men did; but the woman desired the man, too, and was
aggressively leading him on, assuming postures calculated to inflame his passion. The whole was
stylized, and each couple was coordinated; it was indeed an established dance. Watching it. Orb could
understand why the typical Gypsy girl was sexually active before menarche, and a mother in her early
teens. For children were dancing, too, exchanging the same suggestive stares. She saw girls no older
than six flaunting their hips and showing their thighs. It could have been a joke, but was not; every
motion was choreographed, just so, even the most lascivious. Orb could appreciate how a man could be
excited by the youngest of such girls, and she herself experienced a rush of desire as she watched the
men.
Flustered, Orb wished she could leave before her embarrassment was evident. But she knew she could
not-and a deeper countercurrent in her didn't want to go. Her own appetite was stirring, and part of her
wanted to participate, flinging away caution and indulging in the passion of the moment with complete
abandon.
She spent the rest of the occasion in a kind of fog; it was Tinka who got her safely home. She slept-and
in the morning was disgusted. "Any man could have done anything he wanted with me!" she exclaimed,
appalled in retrospect. She spoke in Calo, imperfectly, but the feeling was there.
"No," Tinka said. "My father decreed that you are not to be molested."
"I mean that I would have welcomed it!" She spoke as freely as her command of the language permitted,
for though her association with the Gypsy girl had not been long, it had been intense, and they were
becoming confidantes. Three years separated them, but the Gypsy girl's knowledge of sexual matters
was greater than Orb's.
"No shame in that!" Tinka exclaimed, laughing. "For five years I have longed for a man, any man, but
few would touch me, because of my faults."
Faults: her blindness and her mutilated hands and deformed feet. But Orb was aware now that the
restriction was not because men found Tinka unattractive, but because they deemed her to be unable to
perform the role of a Gypsy wife and mother. Sex was much on a Gypsy man's mind, but it was not
untempered by practical considerations. "Few?"
"My father got some to come. But I knew..." She shrugged.
Paid love. What girl of any age wanted that? In Tinka's case it was evidently more than dating, but the
principle remained. Tinka wanted to be truly accepted and to captivate the love of a man by her own
resources. "I think they are more interested now."
"Yes. Three asked me to the bush last night, but I wouldn't go."
"Three!" But Orb had seen how much in demand the girl had been for dancing, and of course the line
between dancing and complete sex could be fuzzy, as the tanana showed. Orb set aside her own
reservations, knowing that the strictures of her culture did not apply here. "Why not?"
"Because they were riffraff. After I learn what you are teaching me, I can get a noble."
She had a point.
The work continued, though it was a pleasure. Before she knew it, months had passed, and Orb had not
only learned the language, she had learned much about the Gypsy culture. Tinka taught her the tanana,
though Orb had no intention of ever doing the suggestive dance in public, and other nuances of the
culture. Meanwhile Tinka progressed on the evocation of her latent magic and was able to generate the
orchestra at will. Orb noted with interest that for the girl it was a Gypsy orchestra, not a conventional
one. But its power was as great.
It ended with seeming suddenness. The Gypsies were a traveling people, and the population of the
village was constantly changing. They did not have wealth, as that was not a Gypsy objective, but some
families were in better regard than others. Tinka encountered a handsome, talented, clever Gypsy man,
danced the tanana with him, and touched him constantly, and Orb knew she was playing the magic
music for him. This was the one she wanted, and it seemed that it required only five minutes for her to
captivate the man entirely. The man was not concerned about her blindness or her hands; he recognized
her music as a treasure beyond such matters. Her beauty hardly hurt, however. Before the evening was
done, they had agreed to marry.
Orb was sorry to see her relationship with Tinka end, but she knew it was time for her to move on. She
had learned as much as she could here and now was far better equipped to pursue her quest for the
Llano. The Gypsies of this region did not know where it was, but agreed that the source of Gypsies was
the place to look. They were not sure where that was; perhaps the Gypsies of Northern France would
know...

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