“A blue Tizieri free-rider’s veil.” Taya grinned at her husband. “Complete with spangled fringe.”
“It would be more comfortable than a mask.”
“No.” Amcathra’s tone was firm. “The problem is not simply hiding his face, Principessa. His voice is not supposed to be heard in public, either. That is why icarii speak for exalteds when they are covered.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. How can exalteds rule Ondinium when they can’t be seen or heard?”
“In certain cases, it is preferable that the exalted be neither seen nor heard,” Amcathra replied. Cristof sputtered and Taya covered her smile.
“But how does it work? Why do Ondiniums allow themselves to be ruled by an invisible aristocracy?”
“Because an exalted is the result of a thousand fortuitous rebirths,” Taya said. “Ondiniums know that the Lady has forged each member of the exalted caste to rule over them wisely and well.”
“Because Ondiniums are taught from birth that everybody must find and fit into a certain caste,” Dautry countered, “and they are indoctrinated by a lifetime of loyalty examinations, laws, and customs not to question the established hierarchy.”
Amcathra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Taya opened her mouth to rebut, but Cristof forestalled her.
“The truth is,” he told Liliana, “Taya and the professor are both right. A ruling class shrouded in mystery is more likely to be regarded with respect and fear than a ruling class that people can see isn’t any different from themselves.”
“But you show your face; doesn’t that dispel the mystery?” Liliana asked.
“Somewhat, to the Council’s chagrin. However, I find that I’m given more respect when I wear a robe and mask than when I walk around the capital barefaced. Mystery is an integral factor in maintaining my caste’s power, although as Professor Dautry noted, there are other factors at play, as well.”
“But what about the thousand rebirths?” Taya insisted. “You can’t deny that exalteds have earned their caste through lifetimes of forging and purification.”
“Well….” Cristof looked uncomfortable.
“You are a devout woman, Taya Icarus,” Xu observed. “You must visit one of our temples to the Dancer before you leave.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Xu turned to Cristof.
“So, Ambassador, do you intend to wear your mask during the tour?”
“Not when we’re alone with the head engineer and programmer,” Cristof said, casting a quelling look at Amcathra. “Not if they promise to be discreet.”
“The need for discretion is understood, Exalted.”
“Thank you. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“They are your customs, Ambassador. We do our best to respect and accommodate them.” Xu turned to Amcathra. “Captain, my son-in-law the gunsmith invites you to his shop and to visit some of the larger munitions manufacturers.”
“Thank you, Justiciar.”
She turned to the others.
“Is there anything else I can arrange?”
“After we see the analytical engines, we’re doing something I want to do,” Taya warned her husband.
“I promise to sit quietly while you fly around the city.”
“I was thinking more about finding some really good, spicy Cabisi cuisine for lunch.”
“As long as we’re in public and I can’t take off my mask to eat,” he agreed complaisantly.
* * *
The laboratory tour started out as tediously as Taya had feared. Her eyes glazed as they walked through cluttered workspaces and inspected innumerable half-completed engines, Cristof exchanging enthusiastic comments with the head engineer who acted as their guide. The engineer kept presenting Cristof with books and journals in Cabisi that contained the latest research on the subject, including her own treatise, and Taya was the one who had to carry them all.
“Our latest fully functional engine is for the Os Cansai customs agency,” their guide said at last, opening the final door. “You are fortunate to be visiting today, before we dismantle it for transport to the Customs offices.”
Taya’s boredom vanished as she gasped at the beautiful statue that stood before them. Like the smaller statues in the Hall of Justice, it depicted a smooth-faced, slender Cabisi figure wearing a cloth draped around its hips to hide its sex. The figure cupped a curious brass spherical object resembling a multi-rayed sun in one hand. Its other hand hovered lightly over the object. Its calm, half-closed eyes were made of inlaid shell and sapphire, and precious stones adorned its neck, wrists, and ankles.
“This is an engine?” Cristof circled the statue and lifted his ondium mask to his face, squinting through its lenses. Taya followed, juggling his books from arm to arm. The statue’s front was a façade that hid the complex workings of the analytical engine that had been built into it. Cristof studied the pistons that connected the engine to the sphere between the statue’s hands. “It moves?”
“The engine writes data to a standard wax cylinder,” their guide explained, “but also, if the operator desires, to paper via the writing ball in the Dancer’s hands. At the moment, the operator must manually replace each sheet of paper as it is filled. Unfortunately, we find that we lose much of the statue’s aesthetic value if we incorporate an automated paper feeder into its design.”
“I’ve seen something like this in Ondinium,” Taya said, looking closely at the strange, key-covered writing ball. “My friends attached a typography machine to their analytical engine, and it printed out its data on a long strip of paper— although all the print was backward.”
“Interesting,” the engineer said, politely. Taya got the distinct feeling that her friends’ innovation was passé in Cabiel.
“Why did you put the engine into a statue?” Cristof asked. “Is it a special order?”
“You do not do this in Ondinium?”
“No— we manufacture engines in whatever shape best suits their function.”
“Why?”
“Because… it would take too much time and effort to manufacture something like this. It’s not cost-efficient.”
“I see. In Cabiel, we do not like to purchase ugly objects. A tool must be both functional and beautiful, or it does not sell, and that is most certainly not cost-efficient.”
“The Dancer is a god, isn’t it?” Taya asked, gazing up at the statue’s peaceful, genderless face. “Are the statues in the Hall of Justice all images of the Dancer, too?”
“Yes. I recall that your people worship a woman?”
“The Lady of the Forge. She creates new souls out of old ones and is the patron of all invention.”
“The Dancer embodies eternal change, including life and death and male and female. We usually depict the Dancer like this, young and sexually ambiguous, but sometimes we depict the Dancer as a hermaphroditic adult.”
“That’s— unusual.” Cristof looked nonplussed. “Yet you worship it— I mean, the Dancer?”
“As you worship the Lady.”
Cristof glanced at Taya. “Yes. Well. The Lady is honored in Ondinium as an inspiring concept, if nothing else.”
Taya frowned. Comments like that weren’t going to weigh in her husband’s merit when his soul returned to the Forge. Sometimes she worried about his next rebirth.
“Not everybody in Cabiel believes in a literally embodied Dancer, either,” the engineer said with equanimity, “but like your Lady of the Forge, the Dancer carries significant philosophical weight as a metaphor regardless of its deific status.”
“Quite.” Cristof finished circling the statue. “Well, it’s a stunning achievement. Do all of your engines end up in religious statuary?”
“Many, yes, although we also place our engines in tables or cabinets. Sand and salt water destroy an engine’s functionality very
quickly, so purchasers prefer their engines to sit within some protective case or another. If you wish to see the pinnacle of our efforts, visit the Pearl Temple and examine the Dancer on the central altar.”
“It’s an analytical engine?”
“An automaton.” The engineer smiled. “The kattakas there delight in showing it off to visitors.”
“We’ll go as soon as we can,” Taya said at once. Her husband nodded with less enthusiasm— automata interested him, but temples didn’t. Taya figured he owed her one, though, after today’s factory tour.
Their quadracycle driver stacked the books in a small bin behind the seat and cycled them to what he claimed was the best seafood restaurant in town, which just happened to be owned by his uncle. The small restaurant, like so many Taya had seen in Os Cansai, had an outdoor patio full of lunchtime patrons who fell silent as soon as she stepped out of the vehicle, her ondium wings arching over her head.
Taya gave them a Cabisi bow, receiving pleased looks and a flurry of bows in return. As she and the driver arranged to have screens pulled over a corner so that Cristof could unmask, she overheard her country’s name and the word “icarus” being bandied about among the diners.
The food was as good as their driver had promised, and the restaurant obligingly prepared several unspiced dishes for Cristof. He spent most of the meal cheerfully discussing the differences between Cabisi and Ondinium analytical engines. Taya tried to pay the bill when they were finished, but the owner refused to take her money, protesting that the ambassador’s lunch would pay for itself as soon as people heard he’d dined there.
“I don’t feel comfortable not paying your uncle,” Taya said to their driver in Alzanan, their common language. He turned and spoke quickly to his relative in Cabisi, then grinned.
“He says maybe you fly for him?” he suggested. “Everyone here wants to see an icarus fly.”
“Are you sure…?” All of the staff and patrons who understood Alzanan nodded. Taya wished she hadn’t eaten quite so much. She conferred with Cristof and settled him, masked, at a well-shaded table on the open patio.
The restaurant owner led her upstairs to the restaurant’s storeroom and out onto the roof. Below her, traffic became congested as diners urged passers-by to stop and watch. Feeling an unaccustomed twinge of stage fright, Taya carefully checked her armature and wings before pulling down her goggles and backing up to the far end of the roof.
She wasn’t well-counterweighted for such a low launch platform, but a crisp breeze blowing in from the ocean gave her some lift once she beat her way over the roof level. She kicked down her tailset and straightened into a comfortable glide.
The Os Cansai roofscape was surprisingly low and free from obstacles. Taya could see, in the distance, taller buildings and chimneys that were part of the city’s remote industrial district. The highest buildings in her immediate vicinity, however, were the watchtowers on the seawalls, the Firebrand gleaming brightly over one and the Indomitable looming over another.
For ten minutes Taya flew in slow, lazy circles over the neighborhood. The ocean breeze and the warm air radiating off the sun-baked streets and rooftops made gliding easy, although her leather flight suit soon became hot and uncomfortable. New clothing after this, she decided.
At last she returned to the restaurant roof, where the staff and patrons were gathered to greet her. She locked up her wings, pulled off her goggles, and unfastened the collar of her suit. The restaurant owner handed her a glass of water, which she gratefully drained. She poured the second glass over her sweaty neck and the back of her head, shivering with relief as the water seeped inside of her suit.
“Thank you.” She handed the glass back but found herself trapped as Cabisi pressed around her, asking questions. She did her best to answer, but she was grateful when the owner and her driver finally shooed everyone away and took her back down to Cristof.
He squeezed her arm as she helped him up. She smiled.
“Great flight,” she said. “But I’m going to die of heatstroke if I don’t find something besides this suit to wear.”
Yes, he tapped. She gave him a sympathetic look, knowing he was just as uncomfortable under his metal mask and black outer robe.
“Do you want to come to the market with me or go back to Xu’s house?”
Home. Acquire— he tapped out the letters individually as they walked to the quadracycle. Taya guessed what he meant at the halfway point.
“A free-rider’s veil?” she objected, helping him into his seat. “How likely am I to find one of those in Os Cansai? And you don’t really think you can walk around dressed like a nomad, do you? It’d scandalize Ondinium and probably offend Tizier.”
Acquire, he repeated. She rolled her eyes.
“If I see one, I’ll consider acquiring it. But I’m telling Captain Amcathra.”
She thought he heard him chuckle. Shaking her head, she turned to the driver.
“Would you please take the exalted back to Justiciar Xu’s house?” she asked in Alzanan. “I have some errands to run before I return.”
“Of course,” the driver promised. “I deliver him fast and safe. I find you after?”
“No, I’ll be fine, thank you. How much do I owe you?” She reached for the pocket where she was keeping their Cabisi money, but he waved her off.
“Justiciar Xu pay me,” he assured her. Then, standing on the pedals, he headed off, Cristof sitting motionless in the back like a giant doll. Taya felt sorry for him— she knew he’d much rather walk around the markets bare-faced with her. She ran her fingers through her sweaty hair and strode toward the markets. Nevertheless, a Tizieri free-rider’s veil? Ridiculous.
As soon as she set foot in the complex of stalls and wagons, Taya was swamped by curious onlookers drawn to her tall silver wings. The adults maintained a polite distance, but the children were more aggressive, peppering her with questions in Cabisi and broken Alzanan. She tried not to trip over them as she gawked at the exotic wares and colorful garments displayed around her.
Cabiel! She was in Cabiel at last! For the first time, jostled on both sides by busy locals, it sank in that she was standing in the country she’d read about for so many years; a country that had never been part of the Ondinium Empire and was vastly different from the empire’s former colonies of Mareaux, Demicus, and Alzana. She took a few happy dance steps and laughed with delight.
The food section of the market made her wish that she had enough appetite left to try some of the sizzling meat that was so heavily spiced it made her nose itch and her eyes water. Brightly colored sweets on shady racks beckoned her, and even the fruit looked mysterious, the knobbed and spiked and husky objects tantalizing her with their foreign secrets.
The clothing-and-textiles part of the market was equally extensive and fascinating. Taya couldn’t say how much time she’d spent looking around when she heard voices arguing in Ondinan.
“Captain?” She handed the shirt she’d been holding back to a disappointed vendor and pushed her way through the crowd.
She knew she’d found him when an Alzanan soldier staggered into her, swearing. She shouldered the man aside and saw a flushed and angry-looking Captain Amcathra punching another Alzanan across the jaw while he stood over a sprawling, gray-haired woman. A third Alzanan grabbed his shoulder. The captain rammed his elbow behind him and caught the young man in the solar plexus. The Alzanan turned pale and fell down, holding his chest and fighting for air.
The gray-haired woman beside Amcathra drew a knee under her, trying to stand. With an oath, Amcathra kicked her knee back out from under her and planted his heavy lictor’s boot in her side.
Taya stared, unable to believe her eyes. Had her taciturn, obsessively formal guardian really just kicked a woman?
“Captain! Stop! What are you doing?”
The Alzanan next to her regained his balance and said some
thing crude about icarii. Taya threw her arms in front of her face, blocking his wild blow, and kicked him in the shin.
“Taya!” Liliana appeared next to her, holding a heavy shopping basket. She glared at the young soldier and shouted in Alzanan. “If you hit her, I’ll have you court-martialed! I told you, I’m Principessa Liliana of Family Agosti!”
“Prove it,” the soldier shot back in Alzanan, “or get the hell out of my way.”
Taya spun to check on Amcathra. The Alzanan soldier had recovered from being punched in the face and was circling the lictor. Blood smeared the two men’s faces and fists as they relentlessly traded blows. The soldier on the ground had rolled to all fours.
“Captain! Captain Amcathra, stop this!” Taya edged around the combatants. The Alzanan landed a solid blow to Amcathra’s temple. The lictor staggered and dropped to one knee, shaking his head. Then, with an angry growl, he surged upward and planted his fist beneath the soldier’s breast-bone. Air whooshed from the Alzanan’s mouth as he doubled over. Amcathra grabbed the man’s neck with his free hand and viciously drove his head into the street.
The soldier on the ground grabbed a broken cobblestone and pulled himself to his feet. Taya grabbed the man’s military tunic and yanked him around. The startled Alzanan’s eyes rose to her gleaming ondium wings.
“Back away, now!” she snapped in her sternest Alzanan. “The guards are on their way!”
The soldier looked around with confusion, dropping his stone. Someone stepped next to Taya and she jumped away, only to recognize Professor Dautry, who was holding several tubular map cases and gazing at the fight with disapproval.
“Taya, do you have any—” Dautry broke off as, on the other side of the fight, Liliana shrieked. The third soldier had impatiently hurled the girl sideways into the crowd, his eyes locked on Amcathra. Amcathra’s pale blue eyes narrowed with fury as he lunged for the Alzanan.
The woman he had kicked was picking herself back up again, one arm pressed tight against her side. She shook her long gray hair over her shoulder, revealing a scraped and dirty face tattooed with a mercate’s crescent.
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