Ancillary Sword

by Ann Leckie

  “No, thank you so very kindly, Citizen.” Queter’s voice was bitter and sarcastic.

  “As you like, Citizen,” I replied.

  Captain Hetnys stared at me in frank astonishment. “Sir,” she began.

  “Captain,” I said, forestalling whatever else she might have been intending to say, “are you eating, or can we go?” I took the last bite of my bread. Sirix had already finished hers.

  “I’ll drink my tea on the way, sir, with your permission.” I gestured the granting of it, swallowed the last of my own tea, and walked out the door without looking to see if anyone followed.

  A servant brought us to the same blue and gold sitting room we had met in the day before. By now the sun was nearly above the mountains, and the lake, through the window, had turned quicksilver. Captain Hetnys settled into a chair, Sirix carefully chose another three meters away. Five took up her usual station by the door, and Queter stood defiant in the middle of the room. I went over to where the stringed instrument sat, to examine it. It had four strings and no frets, and its wooden body was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I wondered how it sounded. If it was bowed, or strummed, or plucked.

  The district magistrate came in. “Fleet Captain, you had us worried, you were so late last night. But your soldier assured us you were well.”

  I bowed. “Good morning, Magistrate. And I’m sorry to have troubled you. By the time we were ready to come back, it was raining, so we spent the night.” As I spoke, Fosyf and Raughd entered the room. “Good morning, Citizens,” I said, nodding in their direction, and then turned back to the district magistrate. “Magistrate, I would like to introduce Citizen Queter. I have promised her the chance to speak to you directly. I think it is extremely important that you listen to what she has to say.” Raughd scoffed. Rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  The magistrate glanced in her direction, and said, “Does Citizen Queter speak Radchaai?”

  “Yes,” I replied, ignoring Raughd for the moment. I turned to Queter. “Citizen, here is the district magistrate, as I promised.”

  For a moment, Queter didn’t respond, just stood straight and silent in the middle of the room. Then she turned toward the magistrate. Said, without bowing, “Magistrate. I want to explain what happened.” She spoke very slowly and carefully.

  “Citizen,” replied the magistrate. Enunciating precisely, as though she was speaking to a small child. “The fleet captain promised that you would be given a chance to speak to me, and so I am listening.”

  Queter was silent a moment more. Trying, I thought, to rein in a sarcastic response. “Magistrate,” she said finally. Still speaking carefully and clearly, so that everyone might understand her, despite her accent. “You may know that the tea planters and their daughters sometimes amuse themselves at the expense of the field workers.”

  “Oh!” cried Raughd, all offended exasperation. “I can’t go within fifty meters of a field worker without flattery and flirting and all sorts of attempts to get my attention in the hope I’ll give gifts, or that eventually I’ll bestow clientage. This is amusing myself at their expense, is it?”

  “Citizen Raughd,” I said, keeping my voice calm and chill, “Queter was promised the opportunity to speak. You will have your chance when she is finished.”

  “And meanwhile I’m to stand here and listen to this?” cried Raughd.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Raughd looked at her mother in appeal. Fosyf said, “Now, Raughd, the fleet captain promised Queter she could speak. If there’s anything to say afterward we’ll have our chance to say it.” Her voice even, her expression genial as always, but I thought she was wary of what might come next. Captain Hetnys seemed confused, looked for an instant as though she would have said something, but saw me watching. Sirix stared fixedly off into the distance. Angry. I didn’t blame her.

  I turned to Queter. “Go on, Citizen.” Raughd made a disgusted noise, and seated herself heavily in the nearest chair. Her mother remained standing. Calm.

  Queter drew a deliberate breath. “The tea planters and their daughters sometimes amuse themselves at the expense of the field workers,” she repeated. I didn’t know if anyone else in the room could hear how carefully she was controlling her voice. “Of course we always say flattering things and pretend to want it.” Raughd made a sharp, incredulous noise. Queter continued. “Most of us, anyway. Anyone in this house has… can make our lives a misery.” She had been about to say that anyone in the house had the field workers’ lives in their hands, an expression that, literally translated from Delsig into Radchaai, sounded vulgar.

  The district magistrate said, voice disbelieving, “Citizen, are you accusing Citizen Fosyf or anyone else in this household of mistreatment?”

  Queter blinked. Took a breath. Said, “The favor, or the disfavor, of Citizen Fosyf or anyone else in this house can mean the difference between credit or not, extra food for the children or not, the opportunity for extra work or not, access to medical supplies or not—”

  “There is a doctor, you know,” Fosyf pointed out, her voice just slightly edged, something I had never heard before.

  “I’ve met your doctor,” I said. “I can’t blame anyone for being reluctant to deal with her. Citizen Queter, do continue.”

  “In entertainments,” said Queter after another breath, “beautiful, humble Radchaai are lifted up by the rich and the powerful, and maybe it happens, but it never happens to us. Only an infant would think it ever would. I tell you this so that you understand why the daughter of this house is met with flattery, and is given everything she wishes.”

  I could see from the district magistrate’s expression that she saw little difference between this and what Raughd had described. She looked at me, frowning slightly. “Continue, Queter,” I said, before the magistrate could say what I was sure she was thinking. “I promised you would have your say.”

  Queter continued. “For the past few years it has pleased Citizen Raughd to demand that my younger sister…” She hesitated. “Perform certain acts,” she finished, finally.

  Raughd laughed. “Oh, I didn’t have to demand any of it.”

  “You haven’t been listening, Citizen,” I said. “Citizen Queter just explained that your merest wish is in reality a demand and that displeasing you in any way can cause difficulties for the field worker who does so.”

  “And there wasn’t anything wrong with any of it,” Raughd continued, as though I hadn’t spoken. “You know, you’re turning out to be quite the hypocrite, Fleet Captain. All this condemnation of sexual impropriety and yet you brought your pet Samirend here to amuse you while you are supposedly in full, proper mourning.” I understood now why Raughd had made such a hasty, obvious move toward me—she had thought she needed to outflank Sirix.

  Sirix gave a sharp, surprised laugh. “You flatter me, Citizen Raughd. I doubt the fleet captain has ever considered me in such a light.”

  “Nor you me, I’m sure,” I agreed. Sirix gestured assent, genuinely amused from what I could see. “More to the point, Citizen, this is the fourth time Citizen Queter has been interrupted. If you cannot restrain yourself, I’ll have to ask you to leave the room while she speaks.”

  Raughd was on her feet the instant I finished speaking. “How dare you!” she cried. “You may be the cousin of God herself for all I care, and you may think you’re better than everyone in this system, but you don’t give orders in this house!”

  “I had not thought the residents of this house would be so lacking in the most basic propriety,” I said, my voice utterly calm. “If it is not possible here for a citizen to speak without interruption, it would suit me just as well for Queter to tell her story to the magistrate elsewhere, and privately.” Just the smallest stress on privately.

  Fosyf heard that stress. Looked at me. Said, “Sit down and be quiet, Raughd.” Surely she knew her daughter well enough to guess what had happened, at least the outlines of it.

  Hearing her mother, Raughd went very still. She see
med not even to breathe. I remembered Kalr Five and Six listening to the servants talk, how Fosyf had said that there was time enough to grow a new heir. Wondered how often Raughd had heard that threat.

  “Now, Raughd,” said the district magistrate, frowning slightly. Puzzled, I thought, at Fosyf’s tone of voice. “I understand that you’re upset. If someone had tried to kill me yesterday I’d have a hard time keeping calm. But the fleet captain has done nothing more offensive than promise this person”—she gestured toward Queter, standing silent in the middle of the room—“a chance to tell me something, and then try to be sure that promise was kept.” She turned to Queter. “Queter, is it? Do you deny that you placed the explosive in the bathhouse?”

  “I don’t deny it,” Queter replied. “I meant to kill the daughter of the house. I am sorry I failed.”

  Shocked silence. Everyone had known it, of course, but it was suddenly different, hearing it said so plainly. Then the magistrate said, “I can’t imagine what you would say to me that would change the outcome of this. Do you still wish to speak to me?”

  “Yes,” said Queter, simply.

  The district magistrate turned to Raughd. “Raughd, I understand if you would rather leave. If you stay, it will be best if you’ll let this person finish speaking.”

  “I’ll stay,” replied Raughd, her tone defiant.

  The magistrate frowned again. “Well.” She gestured peremptorily toward Queter. “Get it over with, then.”

  “The daughter of the house,” said Queter, “knew that I hated her for taking advantage of my sister. She came to me and said that she wanted the fleet captain to die, that the fleet captain always bathed early before anyone else was awake, and an explosion in the bathhouse at the right time was sure to kill her.” Raughd scoffed again, drew breath to speak, but then met her mother’s look and said nothing, just crossed her arms and turned to stare at the antique blue and green tea set, on its stand three and a half meters away from where she stood.

  “The daughter of the house,” continued Queter, her voice steady but just a bit louder in case anyone tried to speak over her, “told me that she would supply me with the explosive if I didn’t know where to get it. If I refused, the daughter of the house would do it herself and be sure the blame fell on my sister. If I would do it, she would grant my sister clientage, and she would be sure the blame never fell on me.” She looked over at Raughd then, whose back was still to the rest of the room. Said, with withering contempt, “The daughter of the house thinks I’m stupid.” She looked back at the magistrate. “I can understand why someone would want to kill the fleet captain, but I don’t have any personal argument with her. The daughter of the house is another matter. I knew that whatever happened I would be going through Security and my sister would have nothing but grief. For such a price, why not be rid of the person who threatened my sister?”

  “You’re a very articulate young person,” said the magistrate after three seconds of silence. “And by all accounts fairly intelligent. You know, I hope, that you can’t possibly lie about this without being discovered.” A competently conducted interrogation with drugs would uncover a person’s most secret thoughts.

  But of course, if authorities assumed the truth of your guilt, they might not bother to conduct any such interrogation. And if someone truly, mistakenly believed something, that’s all an interrogation would uncover. “Interrogate the daughter of the house, Magistrate,” said Queter, “and discover if what I say is true.”

  “You admit that you tried to kill Citizen Raughd,” remarked the magistrate dryly, “and that you have, as you put it, a personal argument with her. I have no reason to assume that you’re not just making this up in order to cause her as much difficulty as possible.”

  “I’ll make a formal accusation if one is needed, Magistrate,” I said. “But tell me, have you found the source of the explosive?”

  “Security confirms it likely came from a construction site. None of the sites nearby reports anything missing.”

  “Perhaps,” I suggested, “the supervisors of those sites should actually look at their stock of explosives and be sure it matches what the record says.” I considered adding that Security ought to pay special attention to places where friends of the daughter of the house worked, or where she had recently visited.

  The magistrate raised an eyebrow. “I’ve given that order. Gave it, in fact, before I came downstairs to meet with you this morning.”

  I lowered my head in acknowledgment. “In that case, I have one more request. Only the one, after which I will leave matters to you, Magistrate, as is proper.” Receiving the magistrate’s gesture of assent, I continued. “I would like to ask Citizen Raughd’s personal attendant one question.”

  Raughd’s attendant came into the room a few tense minutes later. “Citizen,” I said to her. “Your arms are filled with blessing and no untruth will pass your lips.” Said it in Radchaai, though it was a translation, undoubtedly rough, of the words I’d heard in the kitchen that day, through Eight, what the overseer had said as she’d placed bits of honey cake in Raughd’s attendant’s mouth. “Where did Citizen Raughd get the explosive?”

  The attendant stared at me, frozen. Terrified, I thought. No one ever paid attention to servants except other servants, especially in this house. “Your very great pardon, Fleet Captain,” she said after an interminable silence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come, Citizen,” I said. “Citizen Raughd hardly takes a breath that you’re unaware of. Oh, sometimes you weren’t with her in the Undergarden, sometimes she sends you on errands while she does other things, but you know, the way a good personal attendant knows. And this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing, like painting Not tea but blood on the wall that time.” She’d tried to clean Raughd’s gloves before anyone could realize there was paint on them. “This was different. This was complicated, it was planned in advance, and she won’t have done all that by herself, that’s what a good personal attendant is for, after all. And it’s come out anyway. Citizen Queter has told the magistrate everything.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Her mouth trembled, and then turned down. “I’m not a good personal attendant,” she said. A tear escaped, rolled down her cheek. I waited in silence while she debated with herself—whether over what to say, or whether or not to say it, I didn’t know, but I could see her conflict in her expression. No one else spoke. “If I were, none of this would have happened,” she said, finally.

  “She’s always been unstable,” said Raughd. “Ever since we were children I’ve tried to shelter her. To protect her.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said to Raughd’s attendant. Ignoring Raughd herself. “But you knew what Queter had done. Or you suspected for some reason.” She’d probably drawn the obvious conclusion that Raughd had not—Queter, cornered, would not simply do as she was told. “That’s why you didn’t come to the bathhouse yesterday, when Raughd called you.” And Raughd had lost patience waiting for her servant to come see to her, had left the bathhouse to go look for her, and as a result had not died in the explosion. “Where did Raughd get the explosive?”

  “She took it on a dare, five years ago. It’s been in a box in her room since then.”

  “And you can tell us where and when and how, so we can confirm that?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s making it up!” Raughd interjected. “After everything I’ve done for her, she does this to me! And you!” She turned to me. “Breq Mianaai. You’ve had it in for my family ever since you arrived in this system. This ridiculous story about how dangerous it is to travel in the gates, it’s obviously made up. You bring a known criminal into this household.” She didn’t look at Sirix as she said it. “And now you blame me for what, for trying to blow myself up? I wouldn’t be surprised if you planned this whole thing.”

  “Do you see?” I said, to Raughd’s attendant, who still stood there, weeping. “It isn’t your fault at all.”


  “It will be a simple thing, Citizen,” said the magistrate to Raughd, frowning, “to check your servant’s story.” I saw Fosyf notice that address, the change from Raughd to the more distant citizen. “But we should discuss this elsewhere. I think you should come stay with me in the city until we get this straightened out.” Raughd’s servant and Queter, of course, had no such invitation. Would stay in cells in Security until their interrogations were finished, and they had been suitably reeducated. Still, there was no mistaking what that invitation meant.

  Certainly Fosyf didn’t mistake it. She gestured dismay. “I should have realized it would come to this. I’ve protected Raughd for too long. I always hoped she’d do better. But I never thought…” She trailed off, apparently unable to express what it was that she had never thought. “To think I might have left my tea in the hands of someone who could do such things.”

  Raughd went absolutely still for a full second. “You wouldn’t,” she said, barely more than an emphatic whisper. As though she could not entirely engage her voice.

  “What choice do I have?” asked Fosyf, the very image of injured regret.

  Raughd turned. Took three long steps over to the tea set on the stand. Picked the box up, raised it over her head with both hands, and threw it to the ground. Glass shattered, blue and green and gold fragments skittering across the floor. Kalr Five, standing by the door, made the smallest noise, audible to no one but her and me.

  Then silence. No one moved, no one spoke. After a few moments a servant appeared in the doorway, drawn, no doubt, by the crash of the tea set. “Sweep this mess up,” Fosyf said, catching sight of her. Her voice was quite calm. “And dispose of it.”

  “You’re throwing it away?” I asked, partly because I was surprised, and partly to cover another very small noise of protest from Five.

  Fosyf gestured unconcern. “It’s worthless now.”

  The magistrate turned to Queter, who had stood straight and silent this whole time. “Is this what you wanted, Queter? All this heartache, a family destroyed? For the life of me I don’t understand why you didn’t put your obvious determination and energy into your work so that you could make things better for yourself and your family. Instead, you built up and fed this… this resentment, and now you have…” The magistrate gestured, indicating the room, the situation. “This.”