Kei's Gift

by Ann Somerville

  “No, he’s not. He’s not anything like as bad as we thought.”

  She gave him a sceptical look. “We’re talking about the ‘golden general’? The one who killed the boy in Ai-Darbin?”

  Kei tugged his shirt down and retied the side sashes. “Yes, that’s the one. The bomb the boy threw killed a civilian, a personal servant of Arman’s. More than a servant—his closest friend, I think. He was mad with grief at the time. He’s still in a lot of pain. It’s not an excuse...but I can understand the reaction. He’s not an evil man. He doesn’t like us, but he doesn’t want us mistreated either. Dead, yes, beaten, no.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Now I’m even more worried about you.”

  “What’s the point? It’s not like I have a choice where I’m placed. Have you seen any of the others?”

  “Yes, a few are around this area. I’ve talked to Gonji and Myri once, at the market—they’re all right, or they were. You?”

  Kei sat down—he felt a little shaky again. “This is the first time I’ve been out of Arman’s house since the last time I saw you.” He pulled her close and hugged her. “Gods, Jena, I’ve been so worried and frightened. After what happened to me, I thought the same thing might be happening to everyone else.”

  “I can’t swear it isn’t, but I’ve no proof it is. At least it’s stopped for you.” She pulled back. “It has, hasn’t it?”

  “I think so. Arman’s pretty angry with his steward.”

  “So he should be. A man like that belongs in a prison cell or...or....”

  “I was thinking of a rectal application of tirsel leaf, and then hanging him upside down for a week.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, now, that’s mean. The tirsel leaf, yes, definitely. But the smell....” She picked up some dark green beans and put them into a grinder. “I’ll make some pijo. If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it or Matez will. I have some chuo sap ointment, if you need it.”

  “No, keep it. I have some and used it, but we might need it for something more serious.”

  “Kei, you idiot—this is serious, and besides, who will need it but you or me?”

  He shrugged and then winced at the pain. “It’s the principle of the thing. You never know. Come on, he really needs the tea.”

  Karus wasn’t at all put out at the lengthy delay in fetching his refreshment, and he beamed paternally at them as they sat down at his invitation. “Jena, if Cook doesn’t need you, I think you would be able to help us get on faster.”

  “Of course. What is it you’re doing?”

  “It’s a Darshianese dictionary,” Kei said.

  She touched his hand. “Are you insane? They’re the enemy!”

  “Yes, I know. It has no military application, Arman promised. Look, he could ask anyone in south Darshian for this, it’s not a code. It’ll help me learn Prijian and it gets me away from that bastard steward of his. You don’t need to help—you can excuse yourself. He won’t mind.”

  She shook off his hand. “Tell me what you want me to do, Karus,” she said sweetly. Kei sighed. His life was so full of compromises.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mekus was such a politician, Arman thought, giving the word the emphasis of a curse. One of the most high-ranking senators, but still a small-minded windbag for all that. He’d known Arman since he was in nappies, of course, and never seemed to be far from mentioning the fact either. His daughter was a close friend of Mayl’s, which didn’t recommend father or daughter to Arman, and Mekus’s heir, his son, was an honourless, lazy, whiny brat who expected the world to stop revolving if he stamped his foot, and everyone else to defer to him, even other senators’ sons five years his senior. He needed a good slap and possibly a ten-year stint in the army. Arman was no admirer of the hereditary form of government which meant oldest sons of oldest sons became senators with no other qualification at all. The Prij had had a series of good, strong rulers presiding over weak and talentless senates, and this would do the country no good in the long term. He hoped he was dead or retired before Prijus took his father’s place. He’d never submit to an order from the man. He’d cut his own throat first.

  He left with a pounding headache and a letter from Mekus’s daughter to Arman’s wife—he was considered little higher in status than an errand boy in that family’s eyes. He was tempted to tear it up, but that would be petty. Arman liked revenge on a large scale, and this wasn’t worth the price of the argument he would get into if Mayl discovered him shredding notes from dear Meke.

  He managed to calm down on the walk from Mekus’s house to Karus’s. He hoped Karus wouldn’t too worn out by having Kei with him—he trusted Kei not to do anything deliberately, but Karus’s enthusiasm all too often exceeded his physical abilities. Arman had been slightly jealous at the warm welcome the young Darshianese had received, but Karus was always polite and kind, and had had fifty years’ experience in greeting new pupils and putting them at their ease. Kei had responded just as Arman had, and dozens of other men beside him. Karus was very, very good at what he did.

  He heard gentle laughter even before he knocked at the door, and as he walked through the halls to the library, he heard it again—Karus, and a woman. Jena, he supposed. A happy scene greeted him. Karus had his kezi board out and Kei stared at it with an expression Arman knew all too well. It was the look of a man having been outwitted by a seventy-year-old with an innocent gaze and a mind like a steel trap, with no idea how it had happened.

  “Come in, Arman, I’ve been teaching our guests the gentle sport of kezi hunting.”

  Arman looked at the board. Yes, a classic set up indeed. “Not fair, Karus. I was playing for two years before you tried that one on me.”

  Kei looked up and grinned. “So it’s not that I’m particularly stupid, after all?”

  He’d forgotten his ‘my lords’ but Arman overlooked it. “We’re mere neophytes, Kei, and always will be in comparison. Karus was playing kezi in his mother’s womb, and was plotting kezin-ge while he was spitting milk all over her shoulder.”

  “A slight exaggeration, dear boy,” Karus said, but with a smug look. “Have you come to stay for supper?”

  Arman nearly said yes, but then looked at his servant and his friend. Both were close to exhaustion. “Not tonight, Pei, if you will forgive me. I’ve some reports to write and I need Kei’s assistance.” That got him a sharp glance from the woman, to which he responded with a cool look of his own. Did she think he had injured Kei? “We should really be getting back.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Kei said, standing by holding onto the desk. He bowed his head. “Thank you, Karus-pei, for your help and the game.”

  “It was a delight, Kei-gidu.” The use of the honorific startled Arman. Karus really must be impressed. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  Karus looked at Arman as he spoke. “Yes, if you don’t mind. I take it the dictionary is going well, if you have time to play kezi?”

  Karus waved impatiently. “Oh, don’t be a prig, Arman. Work and rest in the proper proportions are fundamental to health and productivity. I taught you that.”

  Arman bowed. “Yes, Pei, you did. I meant no criticism.”

  “Hmmm. The list goes very well. Jena is helping us too. It might make us all famous one day, what do you think?”

  “I think, Pei, you are already famous, and that I really must take my leave. I’ll bring Kei back tomorrow. Goodnight.”

  Kei bowed. “Goodnight, Karus, Jena.” The woman showed a little more propriety than she had this morning, Arman was glad to see, and only bowed in response.

  Arman led Kei out and their escort joined them. “Are you up to the walk back?”

  “Yes, my lord. I rested when Karus did. Uh...I didn’t tell him what happened. He asked but...I thought it was something you might not want bandied about.”

  “Quite right, I don’t. Not to protect Mykis, but because gossip could hurt more than him. Karus doesn’t need to know, but I’ll explain if he does.”

  “Thank you, my lord
. May I ask, what does ‘gidu’ mean?”

  “‘Learned’. It’s often used by physicians of one another as a courtesy, but when Karus uses it, he’s paying you a remarkable compliment.”

  “Oh.” Kei was silent for a few moments, and Arman suspected he might be blushing, as well he might. Praise like that from Karus actually meant something. “He should really call Jena that. He’s in good hands with her—she’ll care for him very well.”

  “Until she goes home, of course,” Arman said neutrally.

  “My lord?”

  “Have you forgotten? This isn’t going to go on forever—one day, one day very soon I hope in fact, the siege at Darshek will succeed and you and your friends will be free to return to your villages. It’s what you’re longing for, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes of course it is, my lord.” They walked in silence for several minutes, but then Kei spoke again. “It feels odd—to have spent so much time here, to have learned of your ways and your language, and then I’ll never use it again, I suppose, nor ever return to Kuprij.”

  Arman was curious as to where Kei was going with this. “After your experiences, I would wonder you would ever want to lay eyes on another Prij as long as you lived. Even I admit you’ve not been treated particularly well, not at any point.”

  “No, my lord, we haven’t. Yet a man like Karus is something special, someone to treasure having met.”

  “But he’s the only one, surely.”

  “No, my lord.”

  That surprised Arman, he had to admit. “Is that so? Well, when Darshek falls, the empire will be united. There might be opportunities for you to come back to Kuprij if you’re so inclined. I doubt I would feel that way in your shoes, but then I’m not you.”

  He sensed Kei’s surprise at his cold tone, but it was time for a little restoration of the proper balance in this relationship. Kei could satisfy his natural desire for friendship and intellectual stimulation with Karus. Arman didn’t need to be anyone’s friend. It hurt, a little, to push a congenial soul away, but they were enemies. A couple of days of necessary relaxation of the rules didn’t change this fact.

  Kei didn’t speak again until they reached the house, the darkness hiding whatever his expression may have told Arman of his thoughts, but when Arman reached his rooms and lit the lamp, he saw some of the silence had to be caused by pure tiredness. “You overdid it today, Kei. I warned you not to.”

  “Yes, my lord. It was just sitting, I swear to you, and Jena found me a place to rest for a couple of hours.... It’s been a while since I had to work so hard intellectually for so long.” But then he smiled. “It’s good for me.”

  “Indeed,” Arman said, sorting through the letters on his desk, and not looking at Kei. His servant fell silent again, and when the meal arrived, he ate without talking at all. He managed more food this time. Anything which helped the man recover more quickly was good, so he was pleased.

  He left Kei to bathe on his own while he checked some records in the library, and when he returned, Kei was dressed again and sitting on his pallet. The waiting footman took the dirty water away, and Arman could then bathe quickly and have the water and the trays removed. “You should turn in.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Kei shifted as if he was about to lie down. “My lord, have I offended you in some manner?”

  “No. I would tell you if you had.”

  “Oh. Only, you keep grimacing—does your head hurt?”

  Arman blinked in surprise—that had been the last thing he expected. He’d thought to hear a petulant complaint about being ignored. “Yes,” he admitted. “It does.”

  “I can do something about it, if you like.”

  Kei was being scrupulously polite, and his eyes were downcast. Hard to know what was going on in that curious mind. “Another ointment, perhaps made from caterpillar spit, or some such?”

  Kei smiled a little. “No, my lord, just a neck massage.”

  “You expect me to let a Darshianese get their hands anywhere near my neck? I think not.”

  Kei looked up in shock. He seemed about to speak, but then he shook his head and turned, clearly giving up on the idea. Which, perversely, though it was exactly what Arman wanted, annoyed him. “Can you really cure headaches this way?”

  Kei turned back to him. “Not all of them, my lord. It depends on the cause. It’s good for those caused by overwork or strain. If there is an underlying illness, it’s not very effective.”

  Despite himself, despite his resolution, Arman was curious, and his headache was indeed very bad. It had grown worse steadily since they had returned to the house, although he had not actually been doing any serious reading. “You may try. If you kill me, remember there won’t be anyone to keep Mykis away from you.”

  It was only intended as a joke. Arman honestly didn’t believe Kei would lift a finger to harm him if he had not attacked Mykis with far more provocation. But as Kei rose, his expression was solemn. “I’ve told you, my lord. I don’t kill. I’ve never killed anyone, I never wish to. I serve my patients by easing illness and pain.”

  “All right, don’t get upset.”

  But the man persisted, still speaking quietly, his dark eyes intense with his emotions. “My lord, I apologise, but to me, it’s not a joking matter. You called me a murderer when you first spoke to me. I couldn’t—I could never.... To kill someone...it’s sickening.” His voice was low, but the passion behind the words was clear enough.

  It infuriated Arman to be held to account this way. “I’ve killed, Kei. I’ve killed your people. I would do so again, if ordered to, and gladly. Do you hate me for that? Do I make you sick? Do you want to put your hands around my neck now and avenge your kin, the way I avenged.... Soldiers kill. It’s my job. Do you think me evil, or cursed?”

  Why was he debating this with the man, when he should just order him to shut up? Why did his opinion matter in the least to Arman? His head throbbed even harder—that and his rising anger made his next words harsh. “You have no answer for me then? You seem to have an opinion on everything, but none on this?”

  Kei wrapped his arms around himself, his face miserable. “Whatever I say will anger you, my lord.”

  “That’s not stopped you opening your mouth and expressing whatever impertinent thought pops into your head before, so come on, I want to know. Do I make you sick? Am I condemned in your eyes for my crimes?”

  Kei shook his head and walked closer to Arman. “Let me treat your headache and then I’ll answer you, because your pain is making you irritable.”

  Arman nearly threw a paperweight at him for his impudence, before realising that would exactly prove his point. “You go too far. You test my limited tolerance and you exceed your licence. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my lord,” he answered, as meekly as Arman could have wished, but that enraged him too.

  “If your hands slip, if I suspect for a second you are trying to do me harm, you will die, do you understand? I can kill without my sword, don’t imagine I can’t.”

  “I don’t, my lord.” Hesitantly, Kei walked behind him. Arman tensed up immediately even though Kei would be hard pressed to squash the life out of a hisk in his present condition, but as he felt cool, slightly trembling hands on the back of his neck, he forced himself to calm down. Let this farce be over, he could set a punishment for the man, and then he could stop making a damn fool of himself, losing his temper and shouting at a servant over moral issues which weren’t his or any other Darshianese’s concern.

  A firm pressure at the base of his neck, and despite himself, he sighed. Incredibly, some of the pain had dissipated already. He let his head fall forward, and Kei’s fingers dug carefully but firmly into his scalp. Gods...he’d had massages before, but nothing like this, ever. It really felt marvellous, his headache, the pain, and his anger with it, seeping away and leaving nothing but pure relaxation and calmness in their wake.

  He was shocked to find he was practically falling asleep, but when he lifted his
head, Kei had already stepped away, looking at him apprehensively. “Does...does it feel better, my lord?”

  “Yes, it does. Thank you.” Kei nodded, but clearly didn’t want to risk his wrath by speaking again. Now his temper had calmed, Arman was deeply ashamed of himself. Kei had only wanted to help him and be kind, but as payment Arman had behaved no better than Mykis, for all he’d used only words, threats rather than actual violence. The effect on Kei had been exactly the same—the fearful looks, the way his hands were shaking. “Will you sit? For a moment? I’m not angry, I promise you.”

  Kei stared for a moment, and then moved hesitantly to the chair Arman had indicated. He was still biting his lip, and his hands were clenched in his lap, as if to stop their trembling.

  “I apologise. I behaved like a thug.” Kei’s head jerked up in surprise, but he didn’t speak. Perhaps he was wary of another attack. With perfect cause, Arman thought ruefully. “I understand your intentions not to kill. I don’t believe for a moment you would ever do such a thing, whatever I said before in anger. I...may not have been entirely rational then. Loke’s death.... Even now, when I think of it...I would kill that boy again, if he were here. I hate him, I truly do. But my reactions...they were disproportionate. Many tried to tell me. You, ironically, are the only one who has not, and yet you have more cause than most. Why?”

  He’d kept his voice deliberately gentle although even saying Loke’s name had made his chest tight with grief. He had shouted like a drunken lout before. A dishonourable way to behave to a prisoner, let alone a servant.

  “My lord...may I speak?” Arman nodded. “I didn’t blame you because I knew how you felt, a little. My parents died two years ago, my father of bej fever—a great loss to our village, and to my sister and to me. But my mother.... I wasn’t there, I only know...Myka, my sister, said she couldn’t eat or sleep. She was driven by this huge guilt that she could not, with all her skill, her training, all her experience, save the man she loved. Adored. So she drank nitre distillation. Nitre weed...the death is very painful. Cruel, in fact. There are far kinder ways a healer can use to kill herself. She must have chosen that route because she felt she deserved it.”