Speaker for the Dead

of her somberness.
      Shoes slapped rapidly against a concrete floor. A little boy ran into the room, stopped in the middle, and whirled to face the doorway where Ender stood. He couldn't be more than a year younger than Quara, six or seven years old, probably. Unlike Quara, his face showed plenty of understanding. Along with a feral hunger.
      "Is your mother home?" asked Ender.
      The boy bent over and carefully rolled up his pantleg. He had taped a long kitchen knife to his leg. Slowly he untaped it. Then, holding it in front of him with both hands, he aimed himself at Ender and launched himself full speed. Ender noted that the knife was well-aimed at his crotch. The boy was not subtle in his approach to strangers.
      A moment later Ender had the boy tucked under his arm and the knife jammed into the ceiling. The boy was kicking and screaming. Ender had to use both hands to control his limbs; the boy ended up dangling in front of him by his hands and feet, for all the world like a calf roped for branding.
      Ender looked steadily at Quara. "If you don't go right now and get whoever is in charge in this house, I'm going to take this animal home and serve it for supper."
      Quara thought about this for a moment, then got up and ran out of the room.
      A moment later a tired-looking girl with tousled hair and sleepy eyes came into the front room. "Desculpe, por favor," she murmured, "o menino não se restabeleceu desde a morte do pai--"
      Then she seemed suddenly to come awake.
      "O Senhor ‚ é o Falante pelos Mortos!" You're the Speaker for the Dead!
      "Sou," answered Ender. I am.
      "Não aqui," she said. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, do you speak Portuguese? Of course you do, you just answered me-- oh, please, not here, not now. Go away."
      "Fine," said Ender. "Should I keep the boy or the knife?"
      He glanced up at the ceiling, her gaze followed his. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, we looked for it all day yesterday, we knew he had it but we didn't know where."
      "It was taped to his leg."
      "It wasn't yesterday. We always look there. Please, let go of him."
      "Are you sure? I think he's been sharpening his teeth."
      "Grego," she said to the boy, "it's wrong to poke at people with the knife."
      Grego growled in his throat.
      "His father dying, you see."
      "They were that close?"
      A look of bitter amusement passed across her face. "Hardly. He's always been a thief, Grego has, ever since he was old enough to hold something and walk at the same time. But this thing for hurting people, that's new. Please let him down."
      "No," said Ender.
      Her eyes narrowed and she looked defiant. "Are you kidnapping him? To take him where? For what ransom?"
      "Perhaps you don't understand," said Ender. "He assaulted me. You've offered me no guarantee that he won't do it again. You've made no provision for disciplining him when I set him down."
      As he had hoped, fury came into her eyes. "Who do you think you are? This is his house, not yours!"
      "Actually," Ender said, "I've just had a rather long walk from the praça to your house, and Olhado set a brisk pace. I'd like to sit down."
      She nodded toward a chair. Grego wriggled and twisted against Ender's grip. Ender lifted him high enough that their faces weren't too far apart. "You know, Grego, if you actually break free, you will certainly fall on your head on a concrete floor. If there were carpet, I'd give you an even chance of staying conscious. But there isn't. And frankly, I wouldn't mind hearing the sound of your head smacking against cement."
      "He doesn't really understand Stark that well," said the girl.
      Ender knew that Grego understood just fine. He also saw motion at the edges of the room. Olhado had come back and stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Quara was beside him. Ender smiled cheerfully at them, then stepped to the chair the girl had indicated. In the process, he swung Grego up into the air, letting go of his hands and feet in such a way that he spun madly for a moment, shooting out his arms and legs in panic, squealing in fear at the pain that would certainly come when he hit the floor. Ender smoothly slid onto the chair and caught the boy on his lap, instantly pinioning his arms. Grego managed to smack his heels into Ender's shins, but since the boy wasn't wearing shoes, it was an ineffective maneuver. In a moment Ender had him completely helpless again.
      "It feels very good to be sitting down," Ender said. "Thank