When the door had closed behind the red robe, McKie restored book and knife to the box, returned his attention to Aritch. Now, when McKie spoke, it was really Legum to client without any sophistry, and they both knew it.
"What would tempt the High Magister of the renowned Running Phylum to bring down the Arch of Civilization?"
McKie's tone was conversational, between equals.
Aritch had trouble adjusting to the new status. His thoughts were obvious. If McKie had witnessed a Cleansing Ritual, McKie had to be accepted as a Gowachin. But McKie was not Gowachin. Yet he'd been accepted before the Gowachin Bar . . . and if he'd seen that most sacred ritual . . .
Presently, Aritch spoke.
"Where did you see the ritual?"
"It was performed by the Phylum which sheltered me on Tandaloor."
"The Dry Heads?"
"Yes."
"Did they know you witnessed?"
"They invited me."
"How did you shed your skin?"
"They scraped me raw and preserved the scrapings."
Aritch took some time digesting this. The Dry Heads had played their own secret game of Gowachin politics and now the secret was out. He had to consider the implications. What had they hoped to gain? He said:
"You wear no tattoo."
"I've never made formal application for Dry Heads membership."
"Why?"
"My primary allegiance is to BuSab."
"The Dry Heads know this?"
"They encourage it."
"But what motivated them to . . ."
McKie smiled.
Aritch glanced at a veiled alcove at the far end of the sanctum, back to McKie. A likeness to the Frog God?
"It'd take more than that."
McKie shrugged.
Aritch mused aloud:
"The Dry Heads supported Klodik in his crime when you . . ."
"Not crime."
"I stand corrected. You won Klodik's freedom. And after your victory the Dry Heads invited you to the Cleansing Ritual."
"A Gowachin in BuSab cannot have divided allegiance."
"But a Legum serves only the Law!"
"BuSab and Gowachin Law are not in conflict."
"So the Dry Heads would have us believe."
"Many Gowachin believe it."
"But Klodik's case was not a true test."
Realization swept through McKie: Aritch regretted more than a lost bet. He'd put his money with his hopes. It was time then to redirect this conversation.
"I am your Legum."
Aritch spoke with resignation.
"You are."
"Your Legum wishes to hear of the Dosadi problem."
"A thing is not a problem until it arouses sufficient concern." Aritch glanced at the box in McKie's lap. "We're dealing with differences in values, changes in values."
McKie did not believe for an instant this was the tenor of Gowachin defense, but Aritch's words gave him pause. The Gowachin combined such an odd mixture of respect and disrespect for their Law and all government. At the root lay their unchanging rituals, but above that everything remained as fluid as the seas in which they'd evolved. Constant fluidity was the purpose behind their rituals. You never entered any exchange with Gowachin on a sure-footed basis. They did something different every time . . . religiously. It was their nature. All ground is temporary. Law is made to be changed. That was their catechism. To be a Legum is to learn where to place your feet.
"The Dry Heads did something different," McKie said.
This plunged Aritch into gloom. His chest ventricles wheezed, indicating he'd speak from the stomach.
"The people of the ConSentiency come in so many different forms: Wreaves (a flickering glance doorward), Sobarips, Laclacs, Calebans, PanSpechi, Palenki, Chithers, Taprisiots, Humans, we of the Gowachin . . . so many. The unknowns between us defy counting."
"As well count the drops of water in a sea."
Aritch grunted, then:
"Some diseases cross the barriers between species."
McKie stared at him. Was Dosadi a medical experiment station? Impossible! There would be no reason for secrecy then. Secrecy defeated the efforts to study a common problem and the Gowachin knew it.