Mirror of Stone

by Corie J. Weaver

  Adam remained silent, listened.

  “I left the little ones in the house, napping. They sleep deep, they’re young. They’d be fine for a while, Neil and I weren’t going far.” She waved towards the cluster of outbuildings.

  “In the threshing room we sifted through the first few bushels fine. Then the mangle jammed. I was pouring and Neil went down to clear the line. I-” She faltered and resumed. “The thresher started back up while he was in the mangle. The safety override should have kept it from happening, but it didn’t.”

  She closed her eyes, stroked the boy’s hair. The child, warm and safe, about to drift off, listened to the sound of his mother’s words, not concerned with their meaning.

  “By the time I made the thresher stop, it was too late. He’d been torn to pieces, strewn in with the grain.”

  Throughout her telling, Adam had noticed her vision focused past him, at the door carved with the spreading tree. “Ma’am, look at me, please.”

  She dragged her eyes away towards him, then they darted back to the door as it opened.

  A thin girl, no more than ten years old, with long dark braids stopped at the threshold. “Mama? Can I come in now? The big boys said it would be okay.”

  As she ran in the greenish bruise that covered the left side of her face caught Adam’s eye. Laura wrapped her free arm around the girl and kissed the top of her head.

  When her eyes met Adam’s, he knew. The girl who shrank back into her mother’s embrace. The sleepy boy. Thought of the twins. Activated his recorder for the first time.

  “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry for your loss. You’re lucky to have fine boys who can help you out with the farm, aren’t you? Now, for the purpose of the record would you repeat your story of the accident that took your brother from your family?”

  Adam had just begun to file the incident log when his communicator pinged.

  “Cole, my office. Now.”

  He hustled down the hall and straightened his uniform as he jogged. Outside her door he stopped, caught his painful breath and waited.

  “Enter.” The door slid open.

  Adam glanced about for the woman he knew to be Olympia Norris, but deBaca sat alone, her back to him.

  “Cole. What the hell did you think you were doing today?”

  He held his breath and kept his eyes riveted to the wall in front of him, praying nothing would give him away. Did she know the truth about Neil?

  “Following up on the report of an unregistered death that came in this morning, ma’am. Did the civilian file a complaint against me?”

  “What?” deBaca spun around to face him across her desk. “No, the civilian is fine. Well, the live one is. The problem isn’t what you did out there, the problem is that you went out into the field at all.”

  “Ma’am, isn’t that my job?”

  deBaca sighed. “Not until you’re released onto full active duty, it’s not. The inquiry board may have ruled that you could come back to work, but there are,” she stopped, restarted, “processes here that needed to be finished. Your last assignment was tough, I know. I’ve been sending you the easy cases until I believed you were ready. But you couldn’t wait, could you. Your sense of discipline, Officer Cole, leaves much to be desired.”

  Adam felt stripped bare. “Ma’am, I’m tired of riding a desk. I needed to get back in the field again, doing my job again, like before-”

  deBaca cut in, all warmth gone from her tone. “Yes, you interviewed them before, didn’t you, when you were looking into the Weber girl. I am aware of that, Officer Cole. I haven’t forgotten.” She slapped her hand on her desk, stacks of papers shifted, rustled. “However, it appears you’ve forgotten I told you to stay away from that case. Did it slip your mind that I told you to put that matter down and leave it down?”

  Adam sputtered. “Ma’am, this had nothing to do with that case! I went out because I recognized the family.” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to help them. I thought helping people was part of our job.”

  “Adam, I know you’ve been sick. The last case injured you, perhaps more than we realized-”

  Adam cut her off, “That should be part of our job, helping people. But I’m not sure if it is any more.”

  She started to interrupt, but he kept going. “I won’t do this, not any longer. I’m sorry. I wish it could be otherwise. But I resign from the SecDept, effective immediately.”

  deBaca leaned back in her chair. “Cole. I understand you’re frustrated. But you can’t quit. You’re still under contract.”

  Adam swallowed. “I know. But as you reminded me, my last assignment was a doozy. So much of one that I earned a good chunk for a hazard bonus. By my rough calculations, it’ll buy out the time I have left on my contract.” He ran over the numbers again in his head. Yes, it should work. “I’m sorry, Chief, but I’m leaving.”

  He left her office and didn’t bother to close the door behind him.

  Adam took his time getting home, in dread of the upcoming confrontation with his grandfather. Quitting his job, running out on his responsibilities, Adam could almost hear the lecture already.

  Jake had taken one look at Adam when he came into the house and pointed to the basement.

  “Let’s go.”

  Adam told his story plain, no way to put his actions in a good light. He paced as he spoke and kept his eyes on his feet, afraid of his grandfather’s reaction.

  Jake twirled his pipe after Adam had finished. “Eh, boy. Maybe you had the right idea in the beginning, joining SecDept. I got a piece of news this morning, but didn’t let it worry me at the time.”

  Adam stopped pacing. What could have caused such a reversal of his grandfather’s opinions?

  “The recruiting ships are coming back early. The Council has imposed a draft. They’ve called up everyone from seventeen to forty not currently under other obligation. Not just from the colony worlds, but from Claro as well.”

  Adam laughed, unable to help himself. “Grandfather, being in the Navy is what I always wanted. What you always wanted for me.”

  Jake shook his head. “Don’t blame me for that one, son. I’d have been happy if you wanted to be a farmer, raise trees like your father, settle down, and stay safe. I was upset about you joining the SecDept because they tricked you and you were rash. No man wants to send his child to war. And that’s what this is. They’re preparing for war. And you’ll be in the middle of it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The black and red painted footman helped Eleanor down from the carriage without comment. She speculated how the instructions for dealing with the strange guest had been conveyed, then recognized her own weak efforts to distract herself from the evening to come.

  Bunyir stood next to her, his left arm outstretched. She rested her right hand on his cold, slick forearm and together they strode into the hall.

  The immense room sparkled with thousands of tiny lights that flickered and danced in the far reaches of the high ceiling. The polished stone walls curved about the assembly dappled with endless permutations of rose to green to blue and back again. Tall columns defined an outer walkway around the border of the hall and sweet floral incense wafted through the room. In the central area, people stood in small clumps comprised of Lords and Ladies, their heirs and high-ranking aides. They stopped talking to turn and stare at the newcomers. Eleanor leaned on Bunyir’s arm until her legs felt solid again.

  At least two members of each of the Great Houses attended but no one wore the paint of the Lord of the Caprat. She wondered if his absence at her arrival was a deliberate insult.

  Bunyir guided her to the closest cluster of people, where a Tamkeri with blue and orange paints and a brocaded deep green robe waved his arms as he spoke with his companions. As the group pivoted to acknowledge their presence, Eleanor made a
deep bow and addressed herself to the speaker.

  “Gracious Lord Rhiej of the Zatisfo. It is indeed an honor to meet you. I hope this evening finds yourself and your entire House prosperous and happy.”

  As she straightened, she made the requisite three small steps away from the high ranking elder.

  The continued loud conversations surrounding them highlighted his obvious silence.

  After an eternity, Rhiej nodded and looked over her shoulder at Bunyir.

  “Well spoken. We’ll see how she does tonight.” He turned away from Eleanor, but not before he formed a discrete sign for pleasure and friendship.

  A low table held arcs of tall crystal glasses filled with amber liquid. Bunyir selected two near the middle.

  It pleased her, in a dark way, to comprehend his actions. If he selected at random from glasses already set out, it would be impossible to target him for poisoning without risking every guest in the hall.

  Despite seeing the process a hundred times, Eleanor had to force her eyes from the long tongue that unfurled from between Bunyir’s mandibles and dipped into the vessel. She tipped her own glass towards her mouth, aware of the eyes on her strange behavior.

  As she lowered the glass, empty from a single swallow of the sweet cordial, a figure in a rust and gold colored robe moved to stand in front of her. The elongated form that appeared graceful on Mikka and the others became harsh and angular. “Lord Dtrit of the Prichane. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you,” she said.

  And none of it good. Rhiej might be a secret ally, but Dtrit made no effort to conceal his opinions. He and his House were dedicated followers of the Caprat and vocal advocates of the war.

  “Soft thing, you are in my way. It is an outrage you are present, enemy of my people.” He reached past her and snatched up a glass.

  Eleanor remembered Mikka’s admonishments and bit back a retort. Say nothing without previous consideration. To do otherwise is the mark of a child. And, to be honest, it wasn’t that different from late nights at the tavern. Gentle words, deflect the argument, smooth feathers and try to move on.

  A number of persons had drifted closer to the confrontation. Eleanor deposited her glass on a tray with other empty vessels.

  “I am sure I do not merit his attentions, but I did not wish to dishonor Lord Kalal by declining his kind and very explicit invitation.”

  The crowd murmured and nodded.

  A booming voice rang out and drowned Dtrit’s reply. “Why are you all gathered over there? Drinking all my wine, are you?” Flowing robes parted to let the latest arrival through.

  The black and red robes matched the bold face paint. Eleanor sank into the most formal of greeting bows, stiff fingers held out in the closest approximation her hands could make to those of the Tamkeri.

  “None of that, none of that, my dear.” Kalal grabbed her arm and tugged her upright, pulling Eleanor off balance. “Merely a little dinner party among friends, didn’t you get the note?”

  Eleanor stared at him. This jolly fellow was the warlike Kalal? The driving force towards the eradication of her entire species?

  He took her hand and placed it on his own arm and clasped it there, brooking no argument.

  “Apologies for my tardiness. Things to do, the last bit of dinner to oversee. I do like to make sure the desserts come out just right, don’t you? Let’s go into the Hall of Feasting now. They should be about ready to serve.”

  Eleanor was swept away on the arm of the person she had believed her greatest enemy, her mind in a whirl.

  Her turmoil grew when Kalal pulled a chair out for her next to his own and deepened when she saw Bunyir seated several places down the table. She froze in mid-step. She would never navigate the meal without his guidance.

  “Is all well, my dear?”

  Grateful that without facial expressions of their own, the Tamkeri could not interpret her dismay, Eleanor regrouped. “Of course, your Lordship. I’m flattered by your attentions.”

  But not everyone is, she noticed. Shivuk, the heir of Kalal, stood a few paces behind her chair, in what she guessed was his usual place. He marched down to the farthest end of the table and flung himself into a chair, limbs sprawled in an obvious sulk.

  Kalal sat at the pivot point of a long, steep angled table, the guests arranged on the outer side of each wing so as to provide an unimpeded view of the entertainment. Eleanor could see the guests seated on the wing opposite her, but her immediate neighbors blocked her sight of the rest of her own wing, where Bunyir was seated.

  Gilded trays placed between each pair of diners revealed the first course; tiny fruits shaded blue and purple arranged in delicate patterns.

  Eleanor stared at the tray, as if by vision alone she could discern the safety of the dish, when out of the corner of the eye a movement caught her attention. On the opposite wing, facing her, sat Rhiej. He waited until she looked at him then shifted his gaze to a point further down her wing of the table. With his hand shielded by his own platter he flicked yes.

  It took two repetitions before understanding dawned. She could not see Bunyir, but Rhiej could. With no other alternative, she took a small portion of the fruit. The tart berries burst over her tongue in a wave of sweetness.

  Kalal watched her indecision. “Is the dish to your liking, my dear?”

  Eleanor inclined her head with gritted teeth.

  Servants whisked away the first course and brought another set of gilded trays, this time with wafer-thin slices of meats wrapped around what appeared to be a red marbled cheese. Rhiej flicked No. She avoided the dish with regret. The other guests savored the treat; they placed the small morsels on their outstretched tongues and then rolled it all in.

  Across from her a lord in intricate bright green and indigo patterns cleared his throat. “Human, do you like our city?” Old and cautious, Fnamir of the Lodreov had not yet declared his vote in Council.

  “Your city is lovely. I do not believe there is another to match its grace or the elegance of its towers or its people.”

  The older lord nodded for a moment. “Lovely enough for your people to want to take it for yourselves?”

  Eleanor sipped her wine. “My lord, human cities are for humans, Tamker cities for the Tamkeri. This is a beautiful city, true. But it is not for my kind. Your buildings are designed for your shapes, not ours. And as you have little need for them, your city has a distinct lack of cushions. Without adequate padding for our chairs, I’m afraid our people could never stay here long.”

  She worked to keep panic from tangling her fingers as she made the sign for humor.

  “What talk is this?” Kalal’s voice snapped across the table. “We are here for a pleasant evening, Lord of the Lodreov. Do not take it upon yourself to insult my guest.”

  Silence fell across the table. “Your Lordship, I was not insulted. Lord Fnamir’s interest in my thoughts is to my honor. I am sure that all is well, is it not so, my lord.” She faced the older Tamkeri, unable in the eye of their host to do more than flick courtesy and respect.

  Eleanor sagged with relief when, after a moment, Fnamir replied, “We were simply talking. No insult or offense was given nor received.”

  Kalal stared at him for a long moment, then returned his attention to Eleanor.

  “You haven’t touched the worra, my dear. Here, let me serve you some.”

  Rhiej flicked yes in response to her frantic glance and Eleanor resigned herself to the War Lord’s attentions.

  With every course came a veiled challenge. Dancing on a knife-edge, weighing every word before she spoke to make sure there was neither insult given nor careless promise made, she could only wait for the next obstacle.

  With relief she heard the chimes to mark the end of the meal. The assembly rose, but to her horror
, Kalal extended his arm to her again.

  “My friends, while I have you here, I must ask you to indulge me further. I have been assured that the gardens are particularly lovely tonight. Will you join me?” Without waiting for a reply, together they led the assembled company out the door at the opposite end of the hall from which they had entered.

  The opulence of the previous two chambers had not prepared Eleanor for the grounds. Vast grassy swaths punctuated with dense planted beds in a riot of color ascended the side of the mountain in broad terraces. Liveried servants paced the pathways and bore yet more trays.

  Two of the smaller moons illuminated the shell of clouds above and tall wrought metal lanterns scattered over the lawns augmented their light. Kalal left her beside one of the flowerbeds. Grateful to be abandoned, too tired to be nervous alone among strangers, Eleanor studied the closest raised bed. She recognized some of the plants from Bunyir’s own extensive gardens. The blossoms swayed, confused between the moonlight and the glow of the lanterns.

  The rustle of robes on the grass behind her gave her time to return her face to careful stillness. She hoped for a chance to thank Rhiej for his help navigating dinner, instead three others bore down on her. As far as House Chibrimo intelligence knew, Lady Semtruv of the Inibror maintained interest in the peace coalition but had not decided. At her side strode the senior aide to Fnamir of the Lodreov. Eleanor wondered if he would be as aggressive as his lord or if they played two sides of an act, one hostile, and one friendly, to observe where she would fall.

  The third member of their party she recognized with dismay. A step behind the other two as if dragged along by their wake, Shivuk, the heir of Kalal, seemed no more pleased by her presence in the gardens than at dinner.