set a styrofoam cup of steaming black liquid on the floor at his side. She watched Rudy playing tickle-me with Tir for some moments, smiling, then said, "You know, you're probably the first man I've ever seen who'd volunteer for diaper duty."
"Hell," Rudy told her, grinning. "With six younger brothers and sisters, you get used to it."
"I suppose so." She tested one of the wobbly chairs, then sat in it, her arm resting over the back. "I only had the one sister, and she's just two years younger than I am, so I never knew."
Rudy glanced up at her. "Is she like you?" he asked.
Gil shook her head ruefully. "No. She's pretty. She's twenty-two and already getting her second divorce."
"Yeah, my next-next younger sister's like that," Rudy said thoughtfully, fishing in the pocket of his discarded jacket for his motorcycle keys, which Tir received with blissful fascination and proceeded to try to eat. "She's seventeen years old, and she's been around more than I have." He caught Gil's raised eyebrow and askance look, and followed her eye to the decoration on the back of his jacket-skulls, roses, black flames, and all. "Aah, that," he said, a little embarrassed at it "Picasso had a Blue Period. I had my Pachuco Period."
"Oh," Gil said distastefully, not believing him. "Are you in a gang?"
Rudy sat back on his heels, hearing the tone in her voice. "What the hell do you think I do, live in Fontana and go out on raids?"
Since that was exactly what she thought he did, she said, "No. I mean-" She broke off in confusion. "You mean you painted that yourself?"
"Sure," Rudy said, reaching over to spread out the offending garment with its elaborate symbology and multiple grease stains. "I'd do it better now-I'd have different lettering, and no fire; the fire makes it look kind of trashy. That is, if I did it at all. It's kind of tacky," he admitted. "But it's good advertising."
"You mean you make your living at that?"
"Oh, yeah. For now, anyway. I work at Wild David Wilde's Paint and Body Shop in Berdoo, and painting's a hell of a lot easier than body work, let me tell you."
Gil contemplated the jacket for a moment longer, her chin resting on her folded hands on the back of the chair. Though morbid, violent, and weird, the design was well executed and argued a certain ability and sensitivity of style. "Then you're not a biker yourself?"
"I ride a motorcycle," Rudy said. "I like bikes, work on them. I'm not in a gang, though. You can run yourself into real trouble that way." He shrugged. "Those guys are really heavy-duty. I couldn't do it."
Ingold came back in, having traced the power cables to their sources and explored the land around the little house as if seeking something in the dusty silence of the groves. Gil dished up canned beef stew and bread. As they ate, Rudy listened to the girl and the wizard talk and wondered again how much this thin, spooky-looking woman believed the old man, and how much of her conversation was tactful humoring of an old, well-loved, and totally crazy friend.
It was impossible to tell. That she was fond of him was obvious; her guarded stiffness relaxed, and with liveliness her face was almost pretty. But it was Ingold who dominated and led, she who followed, and there were times when Rudy wondered if she was as crazy as the old man.
"I never understood that about the memories," Gil was saying, blowing on her coffee to cool it. "You and Eldor talked about it, but I don't understand."
"No one really understands it," Ingold said. "It's a rare phenomenon, far rarer than wizardry. To my knowledge, in all the history of the Realm it has appeared in only three noble houses and two peasant ones. We don't know what it is or why it works, why a son will suddenly recall events that happened to his grandfather, when the grandfather never exhibited such a talent in his life, why it seems to descend only in the male line, why it skips one generation, or two, or five, why some sons will remember certain events and be ignorant of others that their brothers recall with exacting clarity."
"I could be like a double-recessive gene," Gil began thoughtfully.
"A what?"
"A genetic trait... " She stopped. "Jeez, you people don't understand genetics, do you?"
"As in horse breeding?" Ingold asked with a smile.
She nodded. "Sort of. It's how you breed for