by Sharon Lee
Silain, perhaps wisely, did not touch the glove.
“I have full motion,” he said, clenching his fist, spreading his fingers, turning his wrist. “There is no pain, though there is a training period. I fear that I will be a danger to tea mugs and to the hands of my friends for some little while yet.”
“It is,” Silain said slowly, “a temporary solution.”
He blinked up at her.
“How temporary?”
She laughed at that, and began to walk again, as if the laugh had melted the surprise out of her muscles.
“Practical Rys. It might serve you well for years, grandson. But in the end, the last bone and thread of sinew will fail, and then you will be crippled again. There might also be peripheral damage, to the bones of your wrist, the muscles in your arms.” She slid him a look. “You wondered why I didn’t offer it to you.”
“I did. Now you tell me that Rafin has done me a mischief.”
“No. I tell you that it is done, and for a time, at least, done well. Rafin has seen clearly. A young man needs his strength. An old man needs his patience.”
She turned aside, toward a hearth bright lit, the room beyond it closed, and glowing from within. Two shadows sat at the hearth. One rose as Silain approached, and bowed, fingers tucked respectfully into sleeves.
“Luthia. Our father races to that fair country like a young man to his first love.”
“I will see him,” she said, and turned to Rys.
“Go to our hearth, grandson,” she said. “If you look in the red box, you’ll find a round amber bottle. Five drops into a mug of tea will settle your stomach.”
“Thank you,” he said, but Silain had already turned toward the closed hearth-room.
* * *
At lunch-break, Syl Vor looked about for Kezzi, and found her, not in the line of those waiting to receive their hot cheese and noodles from Ms. Taylor’s spoon, but at the bureau, where the plates and spoons and cups were set out. As he watched, her hand went from the stack of plates to her scarf. She was stealing, again!
Syl Vor walked over to her.
“It is not done,” he said, keeping his voice low, “to steal from the school.”
She gave him a look of dislike.
“I heard you say so, yesterday.”
“Then why—”
“My grandmother,” Kezzi interrupted, “said that we don’t need these things and that I should put them back.” Another smoky glare. “That’s why I’m putting them back.”
Syl Vor nodded. “Of course, you ought to do as your grandmother asks,” he said. He glanced down the room. Almost the whole class had gotten their lunch. They’d better get in line quickly, or Ms. Taylor would notice them.
“Do you need help?” he asked. “The line…”
“I’m done,” she snapped. “I don’t need your help.”
“All right,” he said mildly. He tipped his head. “Let’s get lunch.”
Together, they walked to the serving station.
“She did like the rolls, though,” Kezzi said, as they each picked up a bowl.
Syl Vor stared at her. “These rolls?” he asked in disbelief, which was not very respectful of school or Ms. Taylor. Still, he thought stubbornly, Kezzi’s grandmother must be very hungry, if she thought the school rolls were good.
“She ought to have Beck’s rolls,” he said. “Remind me to give you some to take to her.”
- - - - -
They sat down in the last two seats at the table, which were side-by-side. As far as he could tell, Kezzi didn’t take anything for her own aside from the meal. Ms. Taylor asked after the health of her grandmother, which was courteous.
“My grandmother is in good health,” Kezzi answered. “I hope that your grandmother is the same.”
Ms. Taylor looked momentarily startled, then smiled one of her wide, pleased smiles.
“My gran’s spry as a fox. She’s got all the seedlings set out, and now she’s into the spring clean-up. Guess I know what I’ll be doing on my off-days.”
That brought a chuckle from Vanette, and Jeff said his gran had him washing the windows a room at a time when he come home from school.
Ms. Taylor smiled, looking pleased, and asked Rodale if he was working at the port on his off-days, and the table went back to the usual.
Syl Vor sighed to himself. Almost, a conversation had begun. He thought that was what Ms. Taylor was trying to teach them, with her lunch-time questions. He should have found a way to carry the discussion forward, he thought. Grand-aunt would have expected him—well, no. Quin and Padi—they were expected to have address, and common-sense, and reserve, and wit. Grand-aunt didn’t expect him to have address, he was only a child.
“Syl Vor, how’s your cat?” Ms. Taylor asked. “What was her name?”
“Eztina,” he said. “She’s very fine. Beck says that she comes down to have lunch with everyone in the kitchen.” It was nice to think that he and Eztina and Mike Golden and Mother, too, on those days when she wasn’t out, were all eating lunch at the same time.
“No rats at your place, I guess?” Rudy asked, in the same tone he used for boss’ brat.
“Rudy…” Ms. Taylor frowned.
Syl Vor leaned a little forward so that he could see the red-haired boy, who was sitting three seats up on his own side.
“No, I told you,” he said, borrowing Quin’s tone of over-patience, “I have a cat.”
Jeff shouted a laugh, and Delia giggled.
“Cats are pretty useful,” Rodale said. “We got a couple, to keep the mice out the larder. M’gran wouldn’t be ’thout ’least one.”
“My dog also hunts rats,” Kezzi said surprisingly. “My grandmother doesn’t allow them.”
“There, see, Rudy?” Vanette said. “If you got rats at your place, you need to get yourself a cat—or a good rattin’ dog, like Anna’s got.”
Rudy didn’t answer. He stared down at his plate, his face red.
“You know what my cat does?” Tansy asked from down-table and opposite. “He sits on top the door ’til somebody comes through, then he jumps on their head!”
That occasioned more laughter, and gave Rudy’s face time to fade to pink. There would have been more stories about cats, too—Kaleb started one—but Ms. Taylor held up her hands and said that lunch was over and the first one who cleared away their dishes and was back in their place in the classroom got to do the first Route.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was Arn’s turn to read aloud. Syl Vor, whose turn was yet to come, followed along in the book that he and Rodale shared. Rodale’s head was angled downward, as if he were attentively reading, too, but Syl Vor could hear that his breathing was much too even. Rodale was asleep.
He was wondering how to wake him up so that Ms. Taylor wouldn’t notice, when there was the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall, coming toward the schoolroom.
Ms. Taylor held up her hand, but Arn had already stopped reading and was staring at the door. In fact, the whole class was staring at the door, including Rodale, who had woken up very neatly.
The footsteps continued toward them; the door was snatched open and a patrolman in a bright green vest and a bright green cap strode through, his hand around the upper arm of a boy as tall and as broad in the shoulder as he was. Even though the patrolman had a firm grip on his arm, it didn’t seem like the boy was considering running away. In fact, he matched steps with the patrolman, and sent a quick, interested look around the room as he was marched up to Ms. Taylor, like he was looking for somebody.
Two rows up and to the left, Peter Day sat up straight, and raised a hand.
The boy with the patrolman grinned and jerked his head in a quick nod.
“’Nother child onna street for ya, Miz,” the patrolman said. “Big enough to be workin’ at sumpin, you ask me. Ain’t though, and he’s under years for bein’ idle.”
“Thank you, Mr. O’Dell,” Ms. Taylor said. “You may let him go; he doesn’t look like he�
��s going to run away.”
So Ms. Taylor saw it, too, Syl Vor thought, that the new boy wasn’t going to run—he intended to be here.
The Patrol man grunted, released his hold, and gave the room a general hard stare, as if warning them all not to try anything, looked back to Ms. Taylor, touched the brim of his cap, and marched out, closing the door loudly behind him.
“Careful, there,” Rodale muttered. “No need t’crack the frame.”
“Now,” Ms. Taylor said to the new boy, “this is what we do. You tell us your name and turf, then we’ll all introduce ourselves. All right?”
“All right,” the boy agreed. He looked directly at Peter, and nodded.
“Hey, Pete.”
“Luce,” Peter answered. “Good t’see ya.”
“Same.” He raised his head, then, and looked over the heads of the rest of the class. “I’m Luce Jacobs. Boss Wentworth’s turf.”
“Very good. Now, class? Starting with Vanette.”
They introduced themselves, quick and orderly now that they’d had practice. Luce Jacobs stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, one side of his mouth turned up, and didn’t, Syl Vor thought, pay very much attention.
When it was his turn, though, Luce Jacobs’ looked directly at him, eyes narrowed, his half-smile turned to a frown. He stared at Syl Vor, even after he’d sat down and Rodale got up to introduce himself.
Syl Vor stared back, not frowning, and finally the older boy looked away.
“Thank you, everyone!” Ms.Taylor said, smiling widely. “That was good.” She looked up at their new classmate.
“Luce, you can hang your jacket up in back with the others,” she said. “And, since you know Pete…”
Syl Vor had happened to be looking at Peter, who’d been smiling his lazy smile all the time introductions were going on. The smile became a grin, now—and crashed into a frown.
“…you can sit next to Rudy. All right?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s fine,” he said, and walked to the back to hang up his coat.
“Arn, why don’t you start reading your piece at the top of the paragraph you were on when Luce came in?” Ms. Taylor said, and the class settled back into normality.
* * *
School had been less strange today; the gadje faces more readily recognizable. Ms. Taylor had told her that she’d done her multiplications very well, which had again pleased her. Last night, after she had told out her day to Silain, the luthia said that there was no shame in being pleased in honest praise. Kezzi thought that Ms. Taylor was honest—she didn’t tell everyone they’d done well, and she willingly showed those who had gotten something wrong in their problems where they’d made their mistake.
True, she hadn’t seen Kezzi putting the plate and forks back on the bureau, but it wasn’t supposed that a gadje, no matter how gifted, was quick enough to see a Bedel at work.
Syl Vor, though—he had seen her. And scolded her. And offered to help. Which was, Kezzi thought, very like most of her brothers of the Bedel. So maybe it wouldn’t be…very hard to deal with him as a brother-in-truth.
The boy who had come in with the garda, now; she didn’t care for that one at all. He looked like a boy who might kick a small dog with his heavy boots, and laugh when the dog screamed.
“Class dismissed!” Ms. Taylor called. “Everybody remember to come in on time tomorrow!”
Kezzi went to the back and took down her coat. She shrugged it on, turned—and wasn’t completely surprised to find Syl Vor beside her, sealing up his jacket and looking at her sideways, from beneath his lashes.
“Hello,” she said to him, which sounded grudging in her own ears, but apparently not to Syl Vor.
He looked up with a quick smile.
“Hello. Are you ready to go home?”
Home. Kezzi sighed.
Act as if he is your brother, and he will become your brother in truth, the luthia had said.
“I’m ready,” she said, turning with him toward the door. “I have a letter for your mother.”
“For our mother,” he corrected. “From your grandmother?”
“Yes.” She frowned, suddenly struck. “If your mother is my mother,” she said slowly, “is my grandmother your grandmother?”
He blinked, and was silent as they went down the hallway with the bustle of their classmates.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll look it up in the Code, when we get home.”
They had reached the doorway, and suddenly Kezzi was thrust aside into the side of the door, and Syl Vor pushed into the sharp frame.
“Hey, sorry there, slowbees. Make room for the big kids.” That was Luce Jacobs, the new boy. He laughed and pushed through the door, bumping into Delia on the step, and knocking her hat off.
Pete Day was right after him, walking wide, like Rafin when he wished someone would fight with him, and taking up the whole door.
“For sleet’s sake, Syl Vor, yer the clumsiest kid I ever met,” he snarled as he went past.
Kezzi wasn’t exactly sure, but it looked like he slammed his elbow into Syl Vor’s shoulder.
Hard.
Syl Vor swung into the doorway, and Kezzi went after him. They reached the steps just in time to see Pete and Luce shove their way through the kids and others on the walk, and head up the street, in the direction opposite from theirs, laughing loudly.
“I don’t like that boy,” she said.
“Which one?”
“The new one—Luce.” She thought. “Or Pete, either.”
“They seem to like each other.”
“I don’t like that either,” Kezzi said.
“Neither do I.” Syl Vor jerked his head at a thin, dark-haired man standing on the walk a little away from the staircase and the crowd of their classmates.
“Look, there’s Gavit, come to take us home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rys woke with a snap, as if a toggle had been pressed, and came up on his elbow, blinking against the hearth-light.
“Far-dreamer, welcome,” a familiar—even a beloved—voice said from the opposite side of the hearth. “Glad I am to see you return to us.”
He smiled.
“Are dreams so dangerous, then?”
“Some are,” Udari said slowly, as if considering the question in all seriousness. “Some, are not. And who can know which is what, until our dreams have engaged our waking minds.”
“Well, in the case, I cannot say that I dreamed at all,” Rys said, smiling. “It was five drops from the amber bottle at Silain’s direction that beguiled me.”
“A healing sleep,” Udari said wisely. “Rafin used you roughly, I think.”
“He may have done,” Rys said, raising his hand so that the scales took fire from the hearth-light. “But I call us in Balance.”
“I thought that you would.” There was a suggestion of a sigh there.
“Do you not?”
“Who am I to judge?” Udari returned. “If my brother finds the bargain fair, then my heart is full of my brother’s happiness.”
Rys felt tears rise in his eyes, and managed a smile despite them. “You are good to me, Udari.”
“And you are good to me,” the other replied.
“Now,” he said, more briskly, “are you recovered? Do you wait upon the luthia’s word, or are you free to come with me?”
“Silain was called to tend Dmitri. She bade me come to our hearth, find the amber bottle and put five drops in my tea.”
“So, you have done as you were bade, and kept faith with the luthia,” Udari said. “I fear we’ll be called together soon in celebration of our elder brother. For now, I think we should go to Rafin, Brother, if you’re well enough to walk.”
Rys smiled, and reached for his crutch.
“Almost,” he said, “I am well enough to run.”
* * *
Kezzi walked next to Syl Vor, Gavit the garda walking behind. It was, she thought, better than being pulled along b
y her wrist, or pushed along by a hand on her shoulder, but not very much better. Did he still think she was going to run away?
She thought about that for a moment, and was forced to admit to herself that he might think so, since he had no way of knowing about the luthia’s judgment on the matter, or her instructions regarding Kezzi’s brother.
Sighing, she glanced at him, and encountered a pair of worried blue eyes.
“Are you angry?” he asked; his eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Were you hurt, when Peter pushed us?”
“No, and no. It’s only that…” She hesitated, but the luthia’s judgment had been plain. She owed this boy—this brother—the gift the Bedel gave only among themselves.
Truth.
“I don’t like to walk under the eye of a garda,” she said.
He nodded. “It does seem silly, doesn’t it? Our house is quite close, and none of the others have escorts.” He looked over his shoulder.
“Do you think my mother will let us walk home without an escort, Gavit? Now that there are two of us?”
The garda shrugged, his mouth twisting up like he’d taken a bite of a limin.
“Best ta ask Mike, Silver. He knows your ma’s mind best, bein’ her ’hand like he is.”
“Yes, that’s very true, thank you.” He looked back to Kezzi.
“We’ll talk with Mike when we get home—and we have to remember to set your watch by the house clock, so you’ll be on time to school tomorrow.”
Time. The gadje were all ruled by time, which was a far different matter than timing and intervals. Kezzi sighed.
“I don’t have a watch. The Bedel have no need.”
“Ms. Taylor said that you must be on time,” Syl Vor pointed out, which was…true. “Mother expects us to do well in school, and to conform to the teacher’s instructions.”
“That means,” Gavit the garda put in, “Silver’ll be gettin’ you a watch outta the house supply and makin’ sure you wear it.”
She turned her head to glare at him, and was surprised to see him give her a wink and smile.
“I don’t want a watch,” she told Syl Vor.
“How will you be on time, then?”
That was a puzzle, and Kezzi began to feel a little short-breathed, as if walls had sprung up too close beside her.