Mal wiped a bit of Brisack spittle off his face.
“I proved conclusively that women can’t bear more than two children! How dare she question my research methods?!”
“Keep reading,” was all that Mal said, his smile settling in for a long pandemic.
Brisack’s eyes bulged and he turned back to the letter. It took only a moment for the next explosion to occur.
Mal had pulled out his handkerchief in preparation.
“‘If you allow me to conduct this test of teaching very small groups of children in the home, I will do so using only volunteering parents and children. The results should be measurable, which should please the Administrators who have in the past year accepted other research conducted without the use of any volunteers—’ She’s alluding to my research, isn’t she?! Why, that little—”
Mal stopped him with a raised hand.
“Not that I don’t appreciate you making a diversionary case for keeping our population down—it’s not as if suddenly the women of the world had an outbreak of baby hunger and each wanted to have an unconscionable amount of children—but I’m curious, Doctor: who did you evaluate in this study of yours? I’m afraid I never took the time to read your full report, I only glanced at the notice we sent out. And since we don’t have any women that have more than two children, at least, not for long . . .” He waited for the doctor’s explanation.
Brisack guffawed, scoffed, and smacked his lips.
Mal grateful he still had the handkerchief available.
Brisack finally blurted, “Why, why I couldn’t study anyone in particular, now could I? Not without permanently maiming the mind of some poor woman, or destroying her body! Who’d volunteer for that? Instead I employed a method of exponential application.”
“Ah, the more syllables it has, the more legitimate your made-up conjecture is?” Mal leered.
“No, it’s valid,” Brisack said defensively. “I looked at the effect one child has on a mother, then, based on the few women I could find with two children,” his voice sped up, “extrapolated the effects of continued childbearing by applying a logic sequence that I created—” his tongue was now running a race with his lips, “—to gauge the changes and distortions to mind and body that one could reasonably and exponentially expect to occur with subsequent birthing!”
He paused only to take a breath, then exclaimed, “It was all quite carefully constructed!”
Mal’s smile continued to infect his entire body. “I have no doubt, my good doctor. But she makes an interesting point—you have no real proof. Nothing measurable, no one to really evaluate. It was all simply pure conjecture. Interesting—for a woman in the throes of the insanity caused by birthing two children in such a short amount of time, she’s rather insightful. Isn’t she?” Mal actually fluttered his eyelashes.
“How dare she?!” was all Brisack could froth.
“Yes, yes,” Mal said with malicious merriness, thoroughly enjoying his companion’s fury and divining new ways to prolong it. “I can’t help but consider, before child birthing, we never heard from the woman. And now, after two children, we get this most carefully crafted letter with alarming insights and subtle intimations that men with lesser minds couldn’t recognize.”
He tapped his lip as if in deep thought.
“Almost . . . almost as if giving birth has made her more intelligent,” Mal said slowly. “As if that letter on your lap has invalidated your study because everything you just claimed about the affects of birthing on women, she’s just proven to be—” his stomach-churning grin returned, “—completely false.”
It was the light that was bothering him, Brisack concluded later.
The vast library that used to be a throne room was always dim or dark when they met. But that night the faint glow of the candle cast an odd hue on every feature, causing shadows to occur where they never were before, making nothing look the way it should look, or the way the doctor assumed they should appear.
Instead, the tiny light that hurt his eyes twisted everything into different and strange shapes, yet at the same time they were also distantly familiar, and that threatened everything.
He blew out the candle.
The world became black enough for him to think again without annoying distractions, allowing him to see things precisely the way he needed them to be seen.
“In every study there’s an anomaly,” he declared, once again in complete control of his faculties, “which won’t conform to the norms and defies the accepted truth. Anomalies must be tossed out to clarify the study and develop the irrefutable results.”
“She’s also challenging the most recent findings of the expedition sent west by the Administrator of Science,” Mal reminded him. “Although Hitchin wouldn’t care. Like a good scientist he looks at the carefully selected evidence, makes up his mind about what it all means, then listens to nothing else than his own intelligence.” He almost chuckled.
Brisack looked back at the letter. “No one thinks about that land beyond the western desert anymore. Maybe only a handful of people. Who was it that mapped it years ago? Someone named Terryp?”
“I believe so. All his maps were destroyed. I made a thorough search when I took over four years ago. Nothing’s hidden in any cabinets anywhere.”
Brisack stared at the carefully penned letter. She didn’t rethink a single word. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t something still remaining,” he whispered more to himself. “What did Hitchin’s men do out there for two seasons anyway?”
“I actually read that report,” Mal said, examining his fingernails. “Had to. Needed to make sure the argument for containment was made correctly. The ‘research team’ camped at the edge of the forests outside of Sands, watching the desert for a full season. If they had seen any animals come out, then they would have gone in.”
Brisack stared blankly, no longer seeing Mrs. Shin’s writing. “So Hitchin concluded that the western land was still poisoned because . . .”
“He used sound scientific methods as you did, Doctor,” Mal smiled coldly. “He extrapolated that there was nothing coming from the other side of the desert, so there was nothing alive on the other side to come through. The land to the west is still dead, and therefore so would be anyone who was foolish enough to go there. I believe he said he may have employed some kind of logic sequence. Maybe the same one as you?”
“She saw right through his so-called research,” Brisack whispered. “That’s why she listed it here. She can see . . . somehow she knows . . .”
“You were right earlier—she’s an anomaly. So is he,” Mal said steadily. “So when do we eliminate ‘the anomalies’ that plague both of our research?”
Brisack felt his composure slipping out of his grasp again. One part of him was enraged by Mrs. Shin’s doubts about his studies, and it demanded revenge for her arrogance.
It was ready to shout, Today!
Yet another part, the side he was more familiar with, that listened to reason and stepped back frequently to watch the world that swirled around him pleading to be put into some kind of order, quietly nagged him. Then you’d never know. There’s simply too much potential research here to eliminate just yet. There must be a way to prove they can conform. A way to force their conformity.
“It could be done,” Mal continued in a soothing tone. “Even though you went to such lengths to get a message to her husband to ensure she remained alive last year. It’s not too late to reverse your ways. I’m curious, Doctor—any regrets about saving her now?
“I did it for the babies,” Brisack said, not particularly sure if that was an honest answer. Not completely sure of anything just yet.
“And not for her?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor reluctantly confessed. “Babies need mothers, after all. Otherwise, they’re a burden on society.”
“But mothers like this one?”
“Husbands need wives,” Brisack tried again, hoping the statement would feel true. “Well, some men
think they need wives.”
Mal shook his head slowly. “So you did it for him, did you?”
Brisack sighed. “He does seem to love her, from what I’ve heard.”
“She’s a potentially dangerous woman, Brisack,” Mal pointed out.
“She hasn’t done anything wrong. Yet,” the doctor pointed back.
“A letter will be wanted in Edge in response to this,” Mal gestured to the parchment still on Brisack’s lap. “We can send a few other things in response as well.”
“It’s too early to eliminate,” Brisack whispered, although he wasn’t sure why. The words just came out of his mouth, bypassing his brain which was still too confused to formulate a speculation as to why. “We can still see what it would take to break this horse and his mare. Perhaps they’re not anomalies, but extremes of what we’re proving. They still may be within our research, simply on the edges. We have to prove that. They are just like everyone else.”
Mal grinned, and had the candle still been lit, it would have been snuffed out by the darkness of his smile. “I couldn’t agree more. All of this has thrown a most stimulating twist to all our assumptions. She’ll receive an answer, form letter number one, as recommended by Gadiman. She’ll be thrilled with it until her husband points out that everyone receives the same letter. Then we’ll see what she does next.”
“Agreed,” Brisack nodded, the letter tight in his hands. He was grateful that someone else provided an answer, laid before him a path that he could take, since he couldn’t find any path for himself.
Any route is better than none when you can no longer find your way. Everyone knows that.
“But we can’t allow her to think she knows anything, that she’s as intelligent as she believes she is,” Brisack pointed out. “She must be put in her place.”
“I propose that we begin new research, a test of Mrs. Shin,” Mal said. “Let’s see how curious, intelligent, and nosy this creature truly is. I suspect she may be a cat. Most females are. This letter may have just been some feminine whim which will die away just as quickly, proving that she’s as flighty as every other woman. But if she writes again,” Mal’s voice developed a sharper edge, “and demonstrates that she’s passed our test, then we may have to develop some news ways of proving her.”
“What kind of test do you have in mind?”
“I’ve been thinking—she’s opposed to Full School, and a few quiet rumors have been floating that others may be unhappy as well. But we can drown several cats in one well here, so to speak. The Department of Instruction is already drafting a document expounding upon the finer points of Full School—” Mal’s sickly smile returned, “—and its goals for the future. That will demonstrate to any questioning citizens how little they really understand. Should anyone respond to it—and how—we’ll have a clearer picture of who we need to further humble.
“But I doubt anything will come from it,” he said, almost disappointedly. “People are stupid. And they’re too stupid to know they’re stupid, until someone points their stupidity out to them. This document will do that. Earlier this evening I read through the first drafts. It’s fantastic.”
Brisack’s shoulders relaxed that no decisions were his that night. “How long until it’s ready?”
“A few weeks, at least. Probably more.” Mal gestured to the letter. “We’ll wait on the Form Letter, too. Let her stew for a time.”
Brisack nodded. “There’s something else. I nearly forgot the reason we’re here—I haven’t heard anything from our new man in Edge. There should have been some kind of contact in the past four moons.”
Mal nodded slowly. “Not sure what happened to the new recruit I selected. I’m still waiting on the north about that. Communication has become exceptionally spotty up there. But it seems we still have an inside man, someone our observers in Edge likely put in, not knowing we had someone else chosen. Word filtered up recently through the relays that the other man will not make contact unless absolutely necessary. He sees his task as keeping Shin ‘in the game.’ To do so, he’s chosen to keep a low profile.”
“Hmm. If he’s too quiet, we won’t get much information, will we? Do we want to encourage this?” said Brisack.
“I realize it’s not exactly what you wanted,” Mal said, “but we have other sources until we find out what happened to the other new recruit. Let this ‘quiet man’ keep his low profile until we’re ready to demand something more.”
Brisack nodded and stared deep into the shadows of the room, willing them to stay in their places.
Chapter 7 ~ “Someone like her,
but not her.”
Perrin remembered the date: the 16th Day of Raining Season.
It was four weeks since Mahrree sent her letter to the Department of Instruction and, he was secretly relieved, she had yet to receive a response.
As he walked briskly home in the falling snow that evening he hoped again that if she did get an answer, it would be one of the form letters. The moment she’d left the house to put that envelope into the message carrier’s bag, Perrin had begun to regret it. She likely hadn’t said anything seditious or threatening, but merely the fact that she said anything at all could be construed as something more. That was just the way they thought in Idumea, as if the water in the city—specifically the springs that fed the red and orange Administrative Headquarters—caused paranoid delusions.
But then again, she was only a little wife from a tiny village and no one in the world would ever think twice about her.
The more he told himself that along his damp jog home, the closer he came to believing it.
He trotted up the front steps where snow was just beginning to accumulate, and paused before opening his front door, prepared for almost anything. He took a deep breath and pushed. The door stuck partway.
“Not surprising,” he mumbled, trying to shove it open. “Knew I should have tried the back door.” He slipped his body in as far as it would go, but it wasn’t far enough. His broad chest lodged securely between the frame and the door, and he realized he should’ve taken off his overcoat before trying to force his way in.
“Mahrree?” he called hesitantly.
There was no sound from the surprisingly quiet house.
He took a deep breath and shoved open the door the rest of the way. The sound of chairs tumbling to the ground behind it made him cringe.
On the floor he saw what had jammed the door: one of his work shirts was wedged in the gap. He worked it free and dared to examine the rest of the room.
“Oh, boy,” he groaned. “Or rather, boys.”
He took a step, felt something give way and crumble under his boot, and immediately chose not to look down. He had done that last week, and regretted it.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the effort,” he muttered as he picked his way through the mess, “but it really is a small house—”
Giggles stopped his forward progress. He froze in place to identify the sound.
“Now girls?”
The giggles floated to him again, from the kitchen.
He exhaled. “It’s about time!” He plowed through the rest of the gathering room, past the eating table that was buried under too many things for him to identify, and opened the door to the kitchen.
It was bursting with females.
Mahrree was just about to open her mouth to say something when she saw her husband. “Oh, is it that time already?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, looking at the two teenage girls who stared back at him uncertainly.
“Perrin, you remember Sareen and Teeria? They were my students when we first met.”
“I do,” he lied, but smiled at them anyway. “Don’t tell me they need watching after school, too?”
Sareen, holding Peto, giggled.
That’s right, Perrin thought to himself. The Giggler. The other must be The Smart One. There was a third one, The Hair Tosser, but she’s gone to some other village to spend a few seasons with her grandmother.
“No, Captain Shin,” Teeria rolled her eyes and she wiped Jaytsy’s runny nose. “We’re here to clean up and start dinner for Mrs. Shin.”
“You were right,” Mahrree sighed. “I do need help in the afternoons. So I hired me some.”
He looked around the empty kitchen devoid of any smells suggesting dinner. “Ah. And they’ve done an excellent job, too.”
Mahrree gently slapped his arm. “You’re such a tease. I haven’t seen the girls in many moons so we’re catching up first.”
“Understood,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
Sareen’s giggle strangled in her throat.
Jaytsy slid down out of Teeria’s tense arms and climbed up on her father’s lap.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Perrin said cheerily to the shocked girls as he cuddled Jaytsy. “Since I have a daughter, I need to learn how women talk. Besides, after spending all day around only soldiers—”
Sareen got a dreamy look in her eyes, and Teeria actually sighed longingly. Mahrree looked at her former students with amused concern.
Perrin blinked a few times. “—I need something to entertain me until dinner’s ready.”
“I was going to start on that,” Mahrree promised him. “The girls will get to work on the gathering room. It’s not too bad, is it?”
Perrin’s eyebrows went up. “Ever see any twisters up here in Weeding Season?”
Mahrree chuckled and shook her head. “Too close to the mountains, I guess.”
“Well, I’ve seen the aftermath, north of Orchards,” he told her. “And in our gathering room, ten twisters touched down, didn’t they?”
“Only nine,” Mahrree told him. “Poe was ill today. Not that his mother was too happy about having to miss a day at the Edge of Idumea Estates to care for her son,” she said in a pinched tone. “She wanted to leave him here in our bedroom.”
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 17