She skimmed until she found one from Kor, via Lexi. “Miss Auriga, the Elders Council of the Southern Staré requests that you transcribe your notes into a digital file and give a copy to the Council.” As she sent an acknowledgement, a live-comm buzzed, from Uncle Eb’s address.
To her surprise, it was Lexi, not Uncle Eb. “Good afternoon, Miss Rigi.”
“Good afternoon, Lexi.”
He looked very formal, and he seemed to look past the screen. “I have been asked to confirm your possession of notes of accounts given by Elders.”
Was this being recorded? “I do have in my possession notes taken of the accounts of Elders. I will transcribe them into full accounts, no changes or editing, and will give the files to the Southern Elders Council.”
He bowed to the screen. “In advance, thanks are given for your work.” He took a deep breath and his ears drooped. “Over half the entire Council died, and we feared their memories lost, all lost, forever.”
Half? Kor had not said so many! But Kor might not have known, and not all the Elders lived in Sogdia. “My sorrow for your loss, Lexi. I will transcribe them as soon as possible and will send them to you?”
“No, to Kor. I will send his address. He does have one, despite ferocious protestations and frequent attempts to hide in the depths of the Indria Plateau.”
That sounded more like the Lexi she knew. “Given the depths of the Indira Plateau, even I can understand why his attempts to hide have proven unsuccessful thus far.” She’d never seen any place so flat that was not paved and designated as a landing field. You could see a sleeping wombeast from ten kilometers away. “Ah, pardon my distraction, but where is Uncle Ebenezer?”
Lexi sighed, a long, heartfelt, and very human sigh. “Mistress Trent discovered an inter-systems freight box. It contained hard-copy texts and had been sent shipping due. Mister Trent is in the process of attempting diplomatic actions in order to avert a domestic crisis. He also suffered a chronological memory failure and the date of their marriage passed unnoticed.” He added with a mournful sound, “The date had a large number ending in zero. I fear I shall be needing to train a new researcher.”
Rigi giggled, then laughed, then giggled again. Lexi wiggled his ears at her and signed off, leaving her slumped in the chair still giggling and wiping tears from her eyes. Oh, Uncle Eb was indeed in deep trouble. As usual.
All was as it should be in Rigi’s world.
5
Becoming an Adult
Rigi decided on the direct approach. That evening after supper, she said, “Father, Mother, a hopling I worked with asked if she could come home with me. I said I would ask for permission.”
Her mother rocked Paul and seemed to be considering the question. Her father asked from behind his news reader, “How old is the hopling?”
“I would guess eight years, sir. She is high third, and her family lives near the park. I’ve seen her and her mother there. She was fascinated by Paul.”
Her father shook his head. “I suspect her parents, once they recover, will not be interested in sending her for training, and Siare would have difficulties teaching her. No, not at this time, Rigi.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She’d asked, and duty done, Rigi started reading.
“Have you found a suitable dress for your coming-of-age celebration, Auriga?”
Given that she’d been a touch preoccupied by matters of life and death for the past three weeks, Rigi wondered if her mother had suffered a memory failure. No, she decided before speaking, her mother had probably assumed that when Rigi wasn’t working, she’d been looking at styles and fashions, like her sister Lyria had always done. “I have a style in mind, ma’am, but need to see what colors are available this season. I would like to incorporate the ribbon Lexi gave me, if that would not be too much.”
“No, I do not believe it would be in excess. I am told that Miss Leopoldi will wear scarlet, and Miss Deleon selected dark green. White is, of course, not suitable.”
“No, ma’am.” Not that she could wear white well, and crimson? No, not without feeling terribly conspicuous, even if her coloring did permit it. The ribbon likely would not go with crimson, and pastels seemed inappropriate for some reason. Black and brown might be taken as suggesting that she did not care to marry, and that certainly did not apply. “Pink and yellow zig-zags perhaps?”
Her father looked up and smiled. “With orange fringe on the sleeves, hem, and collar. You will be the talk of Sogdia for the rest of the season, Rigi.”
“And I shall not be able to venture out of the house without wearing a bag over my head! Absolutely not. Where did that idea come from?” Mrs. DeStella-Bernardi sounded as if she intended to hunt out the source of inspiration and speak harshly with them.
Rigi called up the news holo and turned her reader around to show her mother.
“Oh stars be blessed, that is—” Her lips compressed into a firm line. “Forewarned is forearmed, and no. No ruffles that size, either, and the skirt . . ." Mrs. deStella-Bernardi sniffed, then sat back in her chair. "Her modiste should be scolded for telling falsehoods. How unflattering.”
Rigi thought the skirt and jacket made the woman look like a wombow about to deliver a clutch of eggs. Except the singer sported spikey green hair that reminded Rigi of one of the birds in the Bataria Archipelago. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rigi let a day pass as she transcribed the first batch of notes and sent them to Kor, then another, before venturing out with Makana and Martinus to the Staré market where her favorite dress-maker kept a workshop. Staré in the main section and along the edges of the great market gave her odd looks and she did her best to ignore them as she and her escort made their way well into the row of permanent workshops. Makana tapped on the door, and a hopling opened it, bowed, and said, “Please, enter Miss Auriga.”
Rigi stepped into the busy shop, careful not to brush against the stack of cloth heaped onto one of the worktables. Martinus and Makana squeezed in behind her, and an older fourth Stamm female appeared. “How may we be of service?”
Rigi hand-bowed. “I am in need of a dress for a special occasion. I do not know what color, but I would like to use this gift on it, if possible,” she opened the box with Lexi’s ribbon. “And this style,” she gave the female a print-out of a sketch that combined what she liked the best in her other Staré-made dresses.
The female’s mouth worked side to side. Rigi smelled //weak fear, strong determination.// “Miss Auriga, Master Lon passed to the next world. His students will have to do the work, if you permit. And,” she looked away. “We must ask for payment in advance, for materials. Custom has been slow.”
Rigi wanted to hug the female and tell her that it would be alright. Instead she made a gesture like that the Staré used for understanding. “My sorrow for your loss, for Master Lon was most skilled and wise in his trade. I accept your offer, and pay now, so that you may purchase what you need. I trust his training and your supervision. No red, white, or green, and no patterns, please.”
Pure //relief// washed through the shop, coming from four Staré at once. The female bowed. “Thank you, Miss Auriga. Five days, please, return. We have your measure.” Rigi paid, hiding a flinch at the estimate. It did include material, something she usually provided, and the tailors couldn’t be certain of finding anything on discount the way Rigi could when she went hunting. The Staré bowed as a group and she hand-bowed, then departed.
A pair of seventh Stamm males hopped past dragging a large bale of something. Rigi stayed back, not exactly hiding behind Makana. Distracted sevenths never finished their assigned tasks, everyone knew that, and humans rarely visited this part of the market. Only after they had turned the corner did Rigi and Makana continue on, with Martinus walking beside Rigi. “Is there else you need, Miss Rigi?”
She considered her list. “No, Makana.”
He hesitated, then asked, “May we go by the Place of Refuge?”
“Yes.” She’d wait in the wombow cart. Sever
al hoplings appeared to be following them, and she wondered what was going on. Of course, they could just be going the same direction. As Rigi and Makana neared the all-Stamm fountain, they heard sounds of a commotion near the wombow parking area.
“You’re dumber than an eighth and less useful.”
“Your parents were so stupid that they got eaten by tree-drapers!”
“Take that back!”
“You first.” Rigi and Makana exchanged looks. She thought for a few steps, then held up both hands, showing nine fingers. His ears twitched and he made the sign for thirteen. Martinus didn’t take up the challenge. Makana gestured and they eased toward the opposite side of the gateway, closer to where they’d left Stodge and the cart.
“Hsss!”
Rip, rip, “Aiiigh!” Rigi looked to Makana, who gave the sign for ten. Fur-pulling usually stopped around age nine. Usually. A bit of pale brown fluff danced past on the breeze. Oh dear.
They rounded the corner and observed a pair of older hoplings grappling and kicking at each other. Neither one got too close, and only a little fur seemed to be torn loose, at least thus far. Where were the adults? Rigi didn’t see any of the males who usually loitered near the wombow parking, offering to watch the carts and to chase the hoplings away. The two looked fifth or sixth Stamm, both male, and Rigi frowned. She said loudly in Staré, “I thought pouchlings were not allowed here without their mother.”
She’d spoken louder than necessary. Makana did likewise. “So did I, ma’am. Someone needs to give this pair their forefoot.”
Rigi had been swatted more than once in her younger days, and knew just what a wallop an angry Staré adult’s flat forefoot packed. “Indeed. I’ve seen leaper pups behaving better.”
Two angry hoplings stopped fighting and glared at her. Makana loomed from over her shoulder, watching. Martinus drew even with Rigi and glared as well. At least, the hoplings thought he was glaring, because one pointed at the m-dog, eyes wide, and puffed fear. “Ah, ma’am, he called me eighth Stamm.”
“He started it.”
Rigi folded her arms and did her best to look stern, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “And where are your pouch-holders?”
They pointed into the market, ears drooping. Makana leaned forward and Rigi moved sideways out of his way as he said, “If wombows spook, you pay fur-loss coin.” The paler of the two hoplings ducked, ears horizontal. The other had dilated eyes and looked ready to leave a mess on the walkway. Rigi smelled //fear/apology/ dread//. “Go,” Makana ordered. They bounded away, leaving bits of fur fluttering in their wake from their hind-claws. He muttered something about unwatched hoplings and lower Stamm parents, then led the way to where Stodge stood, nose buried deep in the wombow fodder trough. Rigi peered in but didn’t see any food. She hadn’t requested any, just water. Stodge didn’t need food yet. She paid the parking fee as Makana got into the cart and backed it. Then Martinus climbed in, Rigi close behind. Even the reinforced bottom of the cart wouldn’t hold if Martinus jumped in.
Rigi stayed seated while Makana went into the Place of Refuge. She caught a glimpse of the lovely waves of colored tile on the interior walls, but did not walk to the gate and peer inside. She’d been in the courtyard twice, once as a child and once a year ago, when Tankutshishin had asked her and Tomás to look at a document. Why had Makana gone in, Rigi wondered? Oh, he probably had to ask something about the coming-of-age events, since he’d been ordered to act as her guard by the Elders’ Council for reasons Rigi still did not understand. Was it to keep her out of trouble? Or to keep him out of trouble? She’d overheard Lonka muttering something to Shona about his younger brother and mischief. Rigi had great difficulty imagining either brother getting into trouble, but then she’d never imagined she’d see Lexi in armor. Fitting the ears must have been quite a challenge, she mused, running one hand over Martinus’s head.
“What—Stop!” Rigi lunged forward, grabbing the guide lines as Stodge spooked, jerking backward, head tossing, as a human vehicle trundled up beside the cart. “Easy, easy.” Rigi managed to stop him without falling over the driver’s seat. She clambered down and went to his head. Martinus clambered onto the driver’s bench, ready to move if commanded. “It won’t eat you, boy,” Rigi told the round head.
“Mwaah,” Stodge protested. The noise brought two second Stamm guards to the gate to see what caused the fuss.
“I do not believe I have seen a human serving a Staré before,” a man said. He stepped out of the passenger compartment of the hover-car. “Nor a Staré with an m-dog guarding its property.”
Rigi wondered if she should ignore the tall stranger. Except he seemed very, very well dressed, and he wore a large ring on one hand, like a seal-ring or file-holder ring. “Stand down, Martinus,” she ordered, just in case the stranger came too close. In Common she said, “I do not care to have my father’s wombow cart run away, sir, while the driver is tending to his own spiritual needs.”
He turned to the shorter man with him. “I thought you said that this was not a religious center.”
“Not a designated place of worship, no, your excellency. Some Staré do come here to speak with community leaders about spiritual matters, but it is not a religious center. The locals call it a place of safety.” He sounded as if he thought he knew everything about the Place of Refuge, and Rigi wondered who he was. “Dr. De Groet can tell you more, Your Excellency, if you are interested.”
The tall man was the new planetary governor! Rigi wanted to melt into the pavement. He and the other man walked toward the gate, and the Staré on guard duty moved to block it. “He is the crown governor,” Rigi called in Staré.
The expert with the governor frowned. “Manners, child, do not bother adults with your nonsense.”
Rigi flushed and turned her attention to Stodge and Martinus. Part of her wanted to watch, to try to prevent anything embarrassing from happening. A larger part of her wanted to watch the expert get tossed out on his ear, except that would make the new governor look bad. Rigi decided that she had done her duty and if the governor’s expert did not understand Staré, it was not her duty to volunteer, since she was a child. She did hope that Makana returned soon. She needed to transcribe more of the oral accounts and send them to Kor while everything remained fresh. And the sky seemed to be growing darker, as if it might consider raining later that day. Should she put the rain-top up? But that meant letting go of Stodge, and he didn’t always behave when things moved behind him.
“What do you mean we cannot come in until an Elder grants permission? His Excellency Sir Domingo Leopoldi is the royal governor of Shikhari and has every right to enter this building.” Rigi did not turn around. On second thought, she didn’t want to watch. Instead she studied how the fur around Stodge’s eyes and flat, bare nose lay against his skin. He had very long eyelashes, almost as long as the hairs inside his round ears. Well, wombeasts spent most of their time in places where dust and sand blew, so that made sense, she mused. And terror-birds and other predators couldn’t grab the tail he didn’t have. “This is not a place of worship, of course he can come inside.”
“Easy Kofi,” the second man said. “Is the Elder the one with the stocky, dark child?”
Oh no, oh dear, did they think a first Stamm was a hopling? Rigi closed her eyes and tried to make it all go away.
“No, Your Excellency, the stocky one is an Elder. I believe the other is his assistant.” Rigi smelled the sharp pong of //annoyed/angry// and risked looking. Makana stood behind one of the older female Elders, the one Rigi thought of as the Speaker because she spoke Common fluently. Rigi let go of Stodge and bowed to the Speaker.
The Speaker ear-bowed. “Miss Auriga, the Council asks that you continue your work,” she called in Staré.
“I shall do so, Honored Elder. My condolences and ear-grooming for your great loss.” The literal word for “sympathy offered” always made her wonder a little.
“Thank you. It is said that you soon take your
place as a leader of the humans?”
She blushed. “No, Honored Elder, I take my place with those who may be considered leaders in the future.”
“Ah. Clearer and wiser indeed. Who is this?” She gestured to the governor.
“The tall male is first Stamm, the royal governor, the leader sent from the human world. The other is his speaker to Staré and trail-finder, I believe.”
“I see,” the Speaker said in Common. “Go in peace and clear ways to you,” she told Makana, who bowed very low and eased past the two humans, both of whom seemed to be staring at the Speaker in a way Rigi considered quite rude. Makana took over holding Stodge. Rigi and Martinus climbed back into their proper places and Makana got into his seat, backed Stodge, and let him trot onto the main street, then onto the wombow track.
“I hope he forgets me,” Rigi told Martinus. Lots of young women wore dark coats with small hoods, after all, and she wasn’t especially memorable in figure or face. On the other hand, very few human girls spoke to Staré Elders in Staré. Rigi considered everything and decided to leave it in the hands of the Creator and Creatrix. They knew best.
Five evenings later, Rigi stood in the family room, showing her parents her dress. “I am not entirely certain about the trim,” her mother said at last. “It seems too forward, now that it is unfolded and in use.”
“For a girl, yes, dear, but Rigi will be a woman, and compared to the dresses I’ve seen in the customs and importation lists, the trim is quite subdued.” Her father nodded his approval. “And it seems more practical than most.”
“Yes, Timothy, but still, the color . . .” Her mother circled her once more. “A deep jewel tone might be taken amiss.” She crossed her arms. “Except for the trim, one would suspect that you were not truly desirous of courting, Auriga.”
Stamme: Shikari Book Three Page 8